And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well
by Miss Woodford
Summary: Brothers re-connect and remember a rare victory over the Thule Society. Plus, battle with Sister Janette and her cohorts looms ever closer, while Alphonse hopes for a miracle. Strong warning for Very Bad Language.
1. Chapter 1

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

a slice of life in the alchemical world

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, nor any of the characters created by the honorable Hiromu Arakawa. Just any OCs I might come up with in the course of writing this story. I just like to plsy around

**WARNING: **May contain later episode and movie spoilers for those who haven't seen them yet.

**PROLOGUE**: Set four years after the invasion of the Thule Society. After decades of war with one country or another, ambitions have been realized. Roy has been inaugurated as Fuhrer and he has brought peace to Amestris. He can now justify "taking his next breath." Edward and Alphonse Elric have successfully completed their mission of the Affair of the Wayward Nuclear Bomb, and used it's power to open a Gate and return home. The country, and it's inhabitants are lurching towards "normal" - whatever that is.

**HAVOC'S LAW**: If any thing can go wrong, it will; and when you least expect it. Especially if it involves your girlfriend, and Roy Mustang.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

Chapter One: In which Roy does some delegating...

"Man, you are looking sharp today"

Roy Mustang, former Colonel of the Armed Forces of Amestris; now Fuhrer Roy Mustang, leader of the country of Amestris (oh, sure, he had an Amestrisan parliament to deal with, but they were politicians, and all politicians were pussies), stood in front of three full length mirrors set up in his office, admiring himself from every angle.

He normally wasn't so narcissistic - ok, just a little narcissistic - but today the new uniforms, and State Alchemist pocket watches had arrived, and they had turned out better than expected.

Roy had set to work with a will redesigning the uniforms. He hated the color, the boxy cut, the layers, the blousy fabric (it didn't "breathe", and smelled bad when it got wet); hell, he even hated the clumsy thick-soled boots. Far easier to redesign were the pocket watches. They were the same silver as before, but the emblem of King Bradley - the left facing mer-dragon upon a pentagram field had been replaced with a right facing rearing horse over an elementary alchemy array.

When not working on redesigns of uniforms and watches, he was in endless dull meetings with advisors on matters of state policy: negotiating ends to the various wars Amestris was embroiled in (most started by machinations of the homunculi who wanted "ingredients" for the Philosopher's Stone), signing treaties and trade pacts with far away lands, appointing ambassadors to those countries, bringing most of the troops home, and making up to the Ishbalans.

That was going to be the hardest thing to do. Roy's guilt at his actions in the Eastern War, and the fall of Ishbal made the handling of this situation especiallyy tricky. If he overdid it, the Ishbalans would see it as a clumsy attempt to salve his conscience - but under-doing it would be seen as a lack of remorse.

And the Ishbalans were so touchy about religion - sure, it was important to many Amestrisans - Roy had bullied the parliament into adding a total religious freedom clause into the new constitution - but not enough to kill other people over it. Mustang had begun this work by reviewing all the cases of all the Ishbalan detainees in Amestrisan prisons. He had the investigations department to help in this task, the new head of the department was competent enough, but how he wished Maes was still here.

When the case of an Ishbalan holy man came up, Roy asked for a face-to-face meeting. He explained now he was Fuhrer, he was ending all persecution of Ishbalans, and he wanted to make amends for the excesses of his predecessor, King Bradley. (Oh, Fuhrer Bradley, Dante's homunculus masterpiece; Roy had flambeed him like charcoal. And he wished he could do it one hundred times over, he'd come to hate the bastard so much.)

"You can start by ending the torture of Ishbalan prisoners" the holy man had countered. Roy was shocked by the accusation, but when investigations by Lt. Colonel Armstrong backed the man up; Roy ordered the emptying of all prisons which used torture. Then he arrested and tossed into the same prisons all members of the military who had condoned the use of, or participated in, or turned a blind eye to torture. A kind of rough justice he thought, and said as much to Fullmetal, who replied it was more like a machine world concept called "karma".

Roy then asked the holy man how he could best atone for the wrongs Amestris had done to the Ishbalan people. A few weeks later, a special train arrived at the displaced persons camp, and the residents were surprised to see a tall, straight-backed dark haired man in the uniform of the "infidels" disembark.

They were totally shocked a few moments later when he and his aides fell to their knees in front of the headsman and performed the ancient Rite of Contrition. And letter perfect too. By the end, the headsman and most of the Ishbalans were convinced the Fuhrer's apologies were genuine.

He'd also brought back all the Ishbalan P.O.W.s - in comfortable passenger cars; along with the true criminals chained together in cattle cars (considering what was waiting for them, discomfort would be the least of their worries); he raised memorial stelae at the former site of their capitol city, razed so long ago in the Eastern War; and finally Roy gave back all the land which had been taken from them.

When they asked for the materials needed to build a new city, Mustang ruefully looked into the State Treasury, which he was sure had been emptied by Bradley's endless war mongering. To his delighted surprise, he discovered the Treasury was far from empty, indeed it was stuffed to the gills - and then some. He didn't know where all this money had come from, but he would put it to good use.

There was more than enough to give the Ishbalans the materials they needed; provide for the needs of injured veterans; rebuild the shattered infrastructure of Amestris - and pay for the design of those damned uniforms. Which is why Roy was admiring himself in his new dress blues. Not only would the formerly bloated military be lean and mean - it would be _stylin'!_

By happy coincidence, Amestris had recently signed a trade pact with the country of Bourbon; and a few weeks after that, the new ambassador had come to pay the first official visit. Wait. Scratch that. She walked right past Ensign Schieska, without waiting to be announced, and burst into his office while he was in his small personal washroom.

He came out drying his hands, to see this unbelieveably chic-looking woman examing his drawings. When he coughed politely, she started slightly, then looked up, her eyes shining. "Did you do zese?" she cried.

"Uh, yes, I did draw zem - er - them" Roy stammered, then shook his head. "Excuse me, but, who are you?"

Her high heels clacked on the wooden floor as she approached Mustang, "Oh, I am manners forgetting, I zink." She blushed, then extended her hand. "I am Piaf le Arouet, Bourbon ambassador to Amestris."

Putting aside the sudden urge to grab this woman and ravish her on his desk - _right now_; Roy gently pressed his hand over his fingers, bowed, and clicked his heels.

"Charmed, Madame Ambassador." he murmured before turning a dazzling smile loose at her.

It turned out, she was a graduate from Bourbon's diplomatic college, with a minor in fashion design. She didn't suggest too many alterations to his drawings, but Piaf was helpful in the selection of fabrics. The intrusion of this odd woman turned out to be quite a blessing in disguise.

Everyday uniforms would be of comfortable cotton, while the combat gear was to be of this newly developed fabric which would "wick" sweat away from the skin. From experience, Roy knew how smelly an army on the march was. In the field, their personal hygiene was appalling, and table manners non existent.

They belched, farted, scratched their private parts in public, hawked loogies, flicked boogers - and let's fact it, just plain STUNK. And that was just the men, the women were almost as bad.

O.K. His new Armed Forces of Amestris would be lean, mean, stylish - and it would no longer be possible to smell them coming a mile away.

One of the most intriguing fabrics Piaf had shown him, however, was something she called "kevvylar". "It will stop any bullet" she enthused. Once a vest of it was delivered, Roy just _had _to try it out - on somebody else, of course; so he naturally picked the hapless, bespectacled Kain Fuery as his guinea pig. He could have picked Major Edward Elric as a test subject, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your point of view) Elric was on leave back in Risembool.

Out on the parade ground at the Central barracks, Fuery sweated and fidgeted while Riza tried to get a bead on him. Roy had assured him the "kevvylar" would do it's job - but Fuery was born to be skeptical.

"Dammit, Fuery!" she growled "Hold still! Just in case Mustang is wrong, I'll make sure I don't hit any vital spots."

"Oh, like that makes me feel any better" retorted a visibly trembling Master Sergeant.

"Why, Fuery," Mustang smirked, Piaf on his arm "I never knew you had sarcasm in you."

Fuery's reply was drowned out by three loud reports from Riza's pistol; he flew backwards one way, his glasses the other, landing hard in the dirt with a grunt. Havoc, Bloch, and Falman ran over to see how he was, and after a few tense moments, Havoc turned and gave a thumbs up. They pulled Fuery to his feet, and Bloch gave him his glasses. All three walked the shaken young soldier over to Mustang.

He was breathing funny, but he managed a smart salute before he was helped to the hospital wing. Piaf was right, the "kevvylar" had stopped the bullets, but they'd left three nasty bruises on Fuery's mid section. Later that night in the mess hall, Kain picked at his dinner while he was complaining to the others how badly the bruises hurt. Havoc rolled his cigarette to one corner of his mouth before drawling "Oh, kwitcher bitchin', would you rather be a little bruised - or a lot dead?"

But for sheer looks, the dress uniform took the cake. It made a statement without shouting. A darker blue than before, it was cut slimmer, with black leg-skimming pants, accented with narrow red stripes down the outside of each leg. The women had a choice of the pants, or a slim, slightly above the knee skirt. Not the miniskirts the men had hoped for, but short enough to show man-pleasing legs off. Mollified they wouldn't have to wear the minis, Riza and the other women had also called off their threatened rebellion. Another crisis averted by the brilliant Roy Mustang.

That afternoon, the ambassador had just left him after an impromptu fitting - and snogging session. She'd also given him the best news of all - the Bourbonais were setting up new factories to produce the uniforms - and other clothing in Amestris. It looked like a win-win situation to Roy. His army got new uniforms, the people got jobs, and he, Roy Mustang, got a little lovin'. It was good to be the Fuhrer.

As Piaf walked away from the Central government building, she happened to encounter the newly arrived Edward Elric - and what Mustang referred to as 'the usual gang of idiots' - Havoc, Fuery, Valman, Bloch, and Breda - they all had shown up to meet him at the train station. The others - knowing what Piaf's visits were mostly about - stood and leered, but Ed bowed slightly and stepped aside for the lady to pass.

She favored the young alchemist with a gleaming smile; he was rather good looking, she thought. His blond hair was combed (Mustang had said, "When you return to duty, Full Metal, comb your hair properly, not with your fist"), but the bangs still flopped over into his eyes. At the back, it had been pulled into a neatly braided ponytail.

After returning home, Ed had gradually gone back to his old style of dress: black sleeveless shirt, overlaid with a black wool front zippered tunic trimmed in white, and black leather pants, cinched in with a wide brown belt. It was warm for fall, so he wasn't wearing his familiar red coat, nor the ubiquitous white gloves; so a silver chain running from a belt loop to his right pocket was visible. In the pocket was a new watch with the seal of Amestris - symbol of his status as a State Alchemist.

Piaf noted with approval his clothes were clean and pressed, but his road worn boots were rather unfortunate. "Sheet keekers" is Monsieur Roy had called them. She was too polite to stare at his right hand, which was of gleaming metal.

He was now of roughly medium height - not quite as tall as the Fuhrer - but he obviously had better manners than the louts who slouched along in his wake. They wore the new everyday uniforms, but poor posture of the quintet made them look like potato sacks. Disgusting. Even Fifi - the little dog which traveled in her oversize bag - seemed to agree, emitting a snippy little bark.

"Hello, doggy". Ed bent down and offered it his left hand to sniff, then drew back quickly when it snapped at him, making a bloody scratch on one finger.

Ed ruefully looked at the tiny wound, what had he been thinking? He should have offered the ugly little mutt his right hand - the automail one. It would have served the beady - eyed mop right if it had broken a fang.

The men behind him finally realized there was a pretty lady in their midst, and they straightened up. Havoc, ever the loser with women (like in the old days, Roy was _still_ stealing girlfriends from him), tried to ingratiate himself with her.

"Pretty doggie - what's your name?" he crooned, foolishly extending a friendly hand - hadn't he seen what just happened?

"Yipe!" Havoc cried a nanosecond later after, the dog had nipped his digits hard enough to draw blood.

"Her name is Fifi!" snapped the ambassador - who was way out of Havoc's league anyways - "and she is a Bichon Frise!!"

Breda - who hated dogs, and had never met a foreign word he couldn't butcher, blurted out. "A 'bitchin' frizzy'? What's a 'bitchin' frizzy'?"

Ed and the others tried hard to hold back grins as the ambassador began to get ticked off. "No! You plebian barbarian! A BEE-CHON FRE-ZAY!!"

Unfortunately for Piaf, the angrier she got, the worse she mangled the Amestrisan language - it really _did_ sound like 'bitchin' frizzy'!

"Pah!" she finally cried, "let me pass!"

Ed bowed again, his face impassive, something told him it would be a good idea to be polite to this woman. Central was crawling with foreign dignitaries recently,and any rudeness on his part could lead to a 'diplomatic incident'. He longed for the old days when not only could he be rude to everyone, he was _expected_ to be rude.

"C'mon, you mongrels" he drawled to the others. No one took offense, they were 'dogs of the military'; mongrels, mutts, curs, stray dogs. It was someting to be proud of. _Bow-wow!_ The group, led by Elric continued up the street, then up the steps into the same building the ambassador had just exited.

Inside the main two story high foyer, Ed felt they were finally out of earshot of the angry Bourbonais woman, and he could let his guard down. Havoc heard him make an odd snorting sound; he paused from sucking his wounded finger, to ask with an innocent voice, "Excuse me, Major Elric, but are you strangling a duck?"

That did it. Edward burst out laughing, and when he bent down to slap his knee (the left one with his flesh hand), the flood gates opened and the sweet sounds of hilarity filled the air. When Riza came out to investigate the commotion, it was to find the Fullmetal Alchemist, along with Roy's inner circle, laughing uproariously.

Most of them lay on the floor rolling around like hyper ten year olds who'd just heard an especially good poop joke. Falman was older than all of them, and supposedly more dignified, was doubled over in one wooden chair, stamping his foot on the floor; while Ed was rocking back and forth in another chair, holding his sides, laughing as hard as the rest, with tears rolling down his face.

Riza was touched. She couldn't remember Ed laughing in the old, grim days of the struggle against the homunculi. He'd been always sullen - sometimes snarky - especially when Roy was around to bait him with jibes about his short stature. Then a door banged open on the floor above, derailing her train of thought. "What's all that racket?!"

The men sobered up at once. By the time Roy had made it down the stairs to them, they were standing at attention and saluting. Much better. Now they stood up straight, the uniforms looked more like, well - uniforms.

Edward was still giggling, and Roy left him for the moment.

"Havoc, what's with your finger?" he barked, then waved off his explanation. "Never mind,you idiots - don't you have work to do?" Valman, Fuery, Havoc, Bloch, and Breda obediently filed out - with mostly straight faces - though an occasional 'hee-hee' was heard. Once the story of the 'bitchin' frizzy' spread around HQ, the barracks would be a laugh riot tonight.

Roy turned to Ed and regarded him. He glowered with his eyes, but his lips were curved in a smile. After another minute, he gave him a hanky to wipe his streaming eyes with; and waited till he got the last gurgle of amusement out of his system. "Upstairs, Major Chuckles, I've got a job for you."

END CHAPTER ONE.


	2. Chapter 2

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

Keep your friends near - but your enemies nearer - old Armed Forces of Amestria saying

**Disclaimer:** With the exception of my OCs, I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, it owns ME!

**Warning:** If you have not seen the entire series and/or the movie yet, this contains spoilers for episodes 44 ("Stray Dog Runs Away"), 45 ("Hohenheim of Light"), 49 ("Goodbye") and 50 ("Death"); plus the movie ("Conqueror of Shambala"). Read if you must, but you have been warned!

**Summary:** Roy is busy healing old wounds and setting the groundwork for Amestris's future, including new uniforms for the military, but sadly, they don't include miniskirts.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

Chapter Two: In which Roy reminisces about the past, and sends Edward out on a new mission.

Roy appraised the silent young man who sat on the other side of his desk. As much as he couldn't believe he was now Fuhrer, neither could he believe Ed had turned 22 this year. It seemed only yesterday when a plaintive letter begging for information about the whereabouts of Hohenheim Elric had crossed his desk. Roy's first sight of the letter's author was of a maimed eleven year old, missing his right arm and part of his left leg, and crying in his sleep from pain and fever.

The next time they met, Ed was a sarcastic twelve year old, giving military protocol only lip service. Major Hughes used to joke Ed was 14 and a half feet tall - only four and a half feet was Ed, the rest was that gigantic chip on his shoulder.

By his fifteenth birthday, Ed was a feisty little punk with an explosive "Who are you calling short?!" attitude. Even after three years in the military, he still acted like saluting Roy was a fate worse than death - a model soldier he was not.

When he came back from Dublith with all those bruises, explaining they came courtesy of his alchemy teacher, Izumi Curtis; Roy considered taking up beating Ed himself - Izumi apparently had no trouble keeping the little smart-ass in line. It was also Roy's considered opinion Izumi didn't beat the brat nearly enough because he was still defiant, and still disobeying direct orders.

Roy had no trouble recalling the day he and his men had to hunt Ed and Al down near Risembool a year later. The then sixteen year old snarled like a feral dog, his golden eyes flashing defiance, and fighting like an Ishbalan sand tiger for his and Al's freedom. After Roy yelled at Fullmetal for not asking him for help before running away, he'd eventually gotten the fiery teen calmed down; only to see him go off like a bomb when he saw his father. Roy hadn't intervened then; the pair obviously had 'issues' they had to work out themselves.

Then there was the truly awful day - the day Amestris nearly went to hell. He was on his way to kill the homuculus Pride, who was masquerading as Fuhrer King Bradley. Ed was off on his own path, the path he'd chosen - both were trying to avoid a military which had declared them 'traitors'. Little did Roy know that was the last time he'd see Ed for two whole years. When it was all over Roy had lost his left eye, and his confidence in himself. He took the demotion to Corporal, and his exile to a northern outpost as his personal punishment. He'd never dreamed he'd return to Central.

The military had labeled the Fullmetal Alchemist a deserter, but Roy was sure Edward Elric was dead, his personal dream of restoring Alphonse unfulfilled.

Then one day he thought he'd seen him walking down the streets of East City; but when he called "Ed!" it was Alphonse who'd spun around. Al - so he wouldn't forget him - had taken to dressing like his vanished brother; wearing Ed's trademark red coat over black clothing, and growing his caramel-colored hair long and wearing it in a long ponytail (did he realize how much he resembled Hohenheim?). Al was the only one with the faith his brother was still alive, in the machine world beyond the Gate.

Al had just come back from Dublith, where he'd been studying alchemy with Izumi; she had recently passed away and Al had set out on his personal mission to find his brother. And he was glad the boy had been there to help him fight invading troops sent through the Gate by the Thule Society; for ironically, the fight helped Al find proof Edward was still alive, and trying to find his way home.

Dear, sweet, gentle Alphonse, the voice of reason to Edward's flaming temper. Al who loved animals and wanted to use his alchemic skills to help them. Almost to the minute Amestris had signed a trade pact/peace treaty with New Britain; Al had traveled to it's capitol, Londonium, so he could apply to study at it's famous college of veterinary medicine.

The trade pacts and treaties Amestris had signed with other countries - former enemies Creta and Ishbal - and unknown entities like New Britain, Bourbon, and Meso-America were the cause of both excitement - and some anxiety for Roy. And therein lay the job he had for Ed.

"An old saying of the Armed Forces of Amestris goes 'keep your friends near, but your enemies nearer'" said Roy.

Ed nodded, "I've heard it, Granny Pinako quotes it all the time. I think it's a subtle hint of some kind."

"What I want you to do, Ed, is form a new office of military intelligence."

One blond eyebrow raised. "Aren't 'military' and 'intelligence' mutually exclusive terms?"

_Damn! During the years he spent in the machine world, Edward has absorbed too much cynicism._

"O.K., that's it." snapped Roy, "I want to know who you are, and what you've done with the real Edward Elric!"

Ed gave him a look of wounded innocence.

"Fuh, er - Roy." he protested, "I'm twenty-two now, I'm not that cranky little brat you used to fight with." He paused to draw a breath before continuing. "Besides, literally growing up has helped."

Yes, he had. In the other world, Ed had put on an incredible growth spurt, shooting up to 5' 9"; over a foot in those two years. Now, no longer so sensitive about his height, he had finally shed that enormous chip.

And Roy realized he now enjoyed talking to Ed; prior talks had been nerve-shredding exercises in hostility - some from the surly boy, but also some from the frustrated (then) Colonel, who had no patience with children.

Or, maybe it was just Edward who rubbed him the wrong way. Alphonse - when not pestering him after losing his memory, and insisting his brother was still alive - had always been relatively easy to get along with.

"As I was saying," Roy continued, "we need to know what not just our ennemies are doing, but what our new friends are up to as well."

"But - ", Ed began, "isn't spying on our friends being a bit disengenous"?

"Nonsense, you're being naive. Espionage - even among allies - is not only common - but expected."

"I want to know, Ed, who is greeting me with his right hand, while hiding a knife with his left."

"Hmmm, who do you have in mind?"

"I want you to go to New Britain, Ed. Their ambassador was telling me about her country's intelligence operation, MI7." He paused to let the words sink in.

Ed made a 'get on with it' motion. Roy was smirking again, with that 'cat that ate the parrot' expression on his face.

"She suggested we co-ordinate with the New British agency in the setting up of a similar intelligence operation in Amestris; and I immediately thought of you as the perfect man for the job."

Ed was a bright boy, and he had figured out the reason for Roy's smirk; he bet Roy had been thinking of only how to best keep Amestris safe. So he smirked back.

"What happened to the innocent boy I used to know?" asked Roy. Ed responded with a knowing chuckle. Wouldn't you like to know Fuhrer Mustang?

_Too damn cynical._

After his meeting with Roy, Ed walked around Central for some fresh air. Being inside government buildings - heck, any buildings - for too long made him feel like wanting to jump out of his skin. Which was perfectly natural -

as a child in Risembool, he and Al were outside 99 of the time.

When school was not in session, he and Al would have been exploring the valley and woods from just after breakfast until dusk. They sometimes would be having so much fun, they would forget to eat the sandwiches Mother had packed for lunch.

_Mother_

There was a hitch in Edward's stride. His throat tightened, and tears pricked at his eyes. He loved his mother more than anything or anyone (other than his little brother), and he would mourn her for the rest of his life.

He never regretted trying to resurrect her with the forbidden Human Transmutation ritual; he and Al were just dumb kids who didn't know what else to do.

They had no close relatives; Mother had been an only child, and her parents had died long ago. (Ed had a misty memory of being picked up and held eye-to-eye with an old man who's hair grew in the same unruly style, right down to the one wayward bit which stubbornly stuck straight up like an antenna - his grandfather?).

After Mother's death, an official letter had come by messenger. The contents informed them Hohenheim's parental rights had been terminated (by order of Fuhrer Bradley), and they were now 'wards of the state'. So every day after that, both feared Amestrisan Children's Services would come knocking, and take them away to the forbidding Central Orphanage.

He made a mental note: Suggest to Roy he reform the system of caring for Amestrisan orphans, and have that house of horrors torn down. After decades of wars, there were still many orphans around.

Ed saw too many children living on the streets; whenever they saw an adult watching them too closely, they fled into derelict buildings, or skulked down twisty alleys. Too afraid of the grim-faced 'child minders' to ask for help: warm clothing, a soft bed, nourishing food.

Just thinking of how close he and Al had come to that place made him shudder. Good thing that strange woman, Izumi Curtis had shown up that rainy night in Risembool to save the village from flooding. He and Al had badgered her incessantly until she agreed to train them in alchemy. After returning to Risembool from their training in Dublith, Edward's best friend, Asimov Hodgeson told him they'd missed the arrival of the official ACS car by mere hours.

A sudden commotion dragged him out of his reverie. Ed looked up to see himself near the new Import/Export Terminal by the river. The trade pacts signed by Roy had increased the terminal's business tenfold; and the docks were almost always full of ships loading, or unloading goods. Ed walked closer to see what was going on.

A crowd of people had gathered by one of the truck loading docks, shouting about something. Once in earshot, Ed realized they were all auto mail engineers - a picture of an angry blonde shaking a wrench popped up in his mind's eye - and they were clearly excited about something.

Of course, a new shipment of 'Titania metal' had just come in from Bourbon. At first, this shiny metal had drawn only scorn from auto mail artisans - what did those snail eaters know about metal anyways? Until it was tested for strength and found to rival, even surpass Rush Valley steel. After the initial shock, they now fell upon any new shipment like a pack of starving dogs.

After listening to Winry spend almost every hour of a weekend visit to Risembool raving about this darned Titania metal, Ed had used his leverage with Roy to snag a few pounds of it, and had it sent to Risembool.

He'd told Winry to go create what she liked with it; but he hadn't expected her to go right to work and produce a new set of limbs for him.

After another weekend visit spent with exhaustive measuring, re-measuring - and even more measuring - she had phoned him a month later and told him to come home for a fitting.

The leg didn't look too different - except for a shiny new covering - which he thought was a waste, as it was usually hidden under his pants leg. But the arm - that was a thing of beauty. It was lighter, and stronger than before, with the latest in hydraulics and ball bearings; it's Titania metal skin gleaming in the sun.

He'd taken along Lt. Colonel Armstrong - Pinako liked him - and his strength would be needed to hold Ed down during the painful process of nerve connection. Ed had to be conscious for that so Winry could be sure all neural pathways were properly hooked up. This time, it seemed to hurt more than usual - Winry's hypothesis was the Titania metal was a better conductor of nerve impulses - and he suddenly passed out from the pain.

When he came to an hour later, he experimentally flexed his shoulder, and the arm obediently shot up. Too fast - it smacked him in the face, bloodying his nose. His new arm took less effort to move - but to Ed's relief, handled the conduction of alchemical energy just fine - but the lessening of weight took a little time to get used to.

The first time he saluted Roy with it, he'd opened a small gash over his right eye and darn near concussed himself too. As he used alchemy to repair the injury so not even a scar showed, Edward made a mental note not to do that again - Roy might never recover from the shock of the Fullmetal Alchemist regularly saluting him!

Ed turned at the corner and left the yelling engineers behind, directing his feet towards the train station. He had to first book a train to the Bourbon port of L'Escargot, then a ship across the Jersey channel to Londonium. And finally, back to his dorm room to pack. He made another mental note: he didn't know how long he would be in Londonium; he'd better give his house plants away, and arrange for his mail to be held at the headquarters post office.

Time to get busy in his new job as spymaster.

End Chapter Two.

**Author's note:** At the time I'd originally written this, there were 3, maybe 4-5 episodes left, so the chapter was riddled with errors. Which is why I've revised it to make the story cleave closer to the series canon, streamline some clunky writing, and correct spelling/spacing errors.


	3. Chapter 3

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

It is unwise to consume revenge hot - Ishbalian proverb

Chapter Three - In which we skip back a few months. Beware of flying wrenches!

On a beautiful summer's day in Risembool, Alphonse Elric sat at a small table in the backyard of the Rockbell house, doing what he'd come to love best: using his alchemical skills to help animals. Even during the years his soul was trapped in that suit of armor, Al had had a knack with animals from little on.

Dogs came wagging their tails, cats rubbed against his legs, even birds came and perched on his head when he whistled. Sometimes, they had "accidents" on his head too (which an annoyed Ed pointed out was most unsanitary), so he was glad to be back in his physical body, and the birds settled for perching on his index finger.

His "patient" that day was a feral tabby kitten with an eye infection; it sat quietly in his lap, perfectly trusting in this human not to hurt it. With his left hand, Al gently tipped the kitten's head back, then he used the thumb and index finger of that hand to hold it's left eye open.

In his right hand was an eye dropper filled with a yellowish liquid; knowing kittens don't like to sit still for long, Al quickly brought it over and administered two drops of medicine.

"Good kitty", he crooned, and rubbed it's ears. Already purring, the kitten actually raised the volume of it's 'motor'. This was the third dose he'd given the kitten, and the infection was nearly gone. Since tthe signing of the Amestris/New Britain trade pact, Al had been in contact with a professor at the Highgate School of Veterinary Medicine in New Britain; he gave Al advice on the ingredients, and Al finished the medicine using alchemy.

Idly, Al wondered if he would be allowed to take the kitten along when he left for New Britain to begin his studies at the college; he knew Pinako wasn't a fan of cats because the feral cats in the neighborhood had a tendency to use her flower garden as a litter box. Alchemy was rare in New Britain and the new flow of ideas between that country and Amestris had sparked great interest in 'complimentary medicine' - using traditional Hippocratic healing, along with alchemy to cure maladies, and heal wounds.

Al's thoughts were interrupted with a crash - a tremendous one which sounded inside the yellow house behind him. It was immediately followed by an angry, incoherent yell - brother's voice. The yell was answered by a high - pitched female scream - Winry's.

_Not good._

The kitten's tiny body tensed up, it first growled, then spat, and Al released it before he got scratched. It had bolted up a nearby tree by the time another tremendous crash sounded and the back door banged open. Out the door and down the porch steps hurtled a black and yellow streak - Edward Elric had pissed Winry Rockbell off again - which is why he was running hard, ducking to avoid a flying wrench.

"Broth - ?" Al began

**Shut up and run!" **roared Edward.

When Winry was angry, it was best to stay out of her throwing range. Capping the eye dropper, Al leapt out of his chair and pelted after his older brother.

"Don't forget to duck!" Ed yelled. Al did so, and a good thing he did too, as a wrench skimmed right over his head, damn near putting a new part in his hair.

Edward zigged and zagged; avoiding all but the last thrown wrench: at the last minute, he zagged when he should have zigged and the wrench bounced hard off the back of his head. The jolt caused him to lose his balance and plow face first through a small pond of storm water at the end of the yard.

But he was up on his feet almost instantly, and the brothers scrambled together up a steep bank to the road. Both plopped down, gasping, and looked back at the pretty blond woman raging in the doorway.

**"I'M AT WAR WITH ALL MEN - AND THE ELRIC BROTHERS ARE ENEMY NUMBER ONE!" **screamed Winry Rockbell.

Al was stunned. "What ever have I done to you?!" he shouted back.

"You're the brother of Edward Elric!" bellowed Winry, "That's a good enough reason!"

He looked over at Ed, who was spitting mud and bits of grass out of his mouth, his golden eyes looking like beacons in his mud covered face.

"Brother, what did you do to her?"

Edward snapped, "Hell, I don't know, she just started yelling and then she beaned me with a wrench." He kept on, "I swear Al - that woman is crazy. All women are crazy, l - I'd advise you to steer clear of the lot of them."

His little brother chuckled: Ed's hate-love-hate relationship with Winry was a running joke in Risembool. Most of the villagers felt it meant they were made for each other - but Ed was useless at courting - any attempts to make 'nice' on his part tended to end badly. An argument invariably ensured, with yelling, and wrench throwing close behind.

Clapping his hands together, Al lightly set his fingers on the mud, dirty water and vegetation clinging his brother. A bright flash, a crackle of alchemical energy later, Ed and his clothes were clean and dry again.

"Thanks, Al, that was my last clean shirt"

"No problem, brother"

Cautiously circling around to the main road, Ed hoisted himself onto the low stone wall which bordered one side. It made Al realize how much taller he'd grown. Four years ago, he would have to jump up for a handhold, then climb the rest of the way.

Al sat down next to him, and for a time, neither said anything, both lost in their own thoughts. This road held so many memories for both of them. When younger, both raced down it on the way to the river to fish, or go swimming; back and forth on this road on the way to school; they left their home for the last time on this road; and followed it on visits to the Rockbell's.

And, and - and...

Their mother's funeral cortege - plus those of Winry's parents - and so many local war dead - had taken this road on the way to the cemetery for their final rest. Now it was the turn of Al's eyes to mist over.

He felt the pull of generations of people who lived in the valley; their mother had been a Crawford - her ancestors had first settled her over 1,000 years ago. On mother's side at least, Ed and Al's roots ran deep in Risembool. Al slyly brought his hand up to surreptitiously brush away a tear.

"Al?"

He looked over at Ed, who was smiling at him. Al blushed and ducked his head, and he tried to sniff back the tears, but some escaped to roll down his cheeks. Ed handed him a handkerchief, and Al dabbed quickly, then he sat there with it crushed in his hand.

"Brother, I - "

"Thinking about mother too?"

'How did you - ?"

"She crosses my thoughts almost every day, at least once a week."

"Me too, brother, me too."

"We will never forget her Al, never." Ed sighed. "She was our rock, our strength, our shield. She helped us feel safe and secure, even when it seemed the whole country was going to hell in a handbasket."

"Helena Handbasket?"

Ed flopped his metal hand in an offhanded gesture. "It was a term I heard during my time in the machine world. They are big on slang terms over there, sometimes it was difficult to understand them."

Al had nothing to add at first, so he just nodded.

"Brother, we haven't visited her grave for a while, I think it's time we went into the village and got some fresh flowers for her. I think she would like that."

Now it was Ed's turn to nod in agreement. "You were always the voice of reason Al. Maybe Winry will have cooled down by the time we get back."

As one, they jumped down from the wall and headed in the direction of Risembool village. Ed's metal arm was draped over Al's shoulder as they talked about mundane things such Al's fear that he would forget to take his identity papers along, or whether he would get seasick in the Jersey channel, could he handle more formal schooling than he was used to, were cats allowed in student housing, or how he would cope with homesickness.

Down in the village, they were recognized and greeted by virtually everyone. During theirchildhood, should Ed or Al misbehave on one end of the valley, they could be certain their mother had heard about it before he got home - as sweet and loving as Tricia Elric was - she wasn't afraid to mete out punishment when they behaved badly.

Parents pointed them out to their children - look kids! - it's the Fullmetal Alchemist, and his brother, the Soul Alchemist. It was very rare for a village the size of Risembool to produce even one State Alchemist, so two was a huge honor. The Elric brothers didn't know it, but the entire village was very proud of them - especially of Ed's feats of insubordination. He may be a 'dog of the military', yet he wasn't very obedient.

After a quick visit to the flower seller, they headed back up the road, to the village cemetery high on a green hill. Drawing close to their destination, both fell silent, lost in personal memories again. The cemetery was quiet and peaceful, studded with trees from which occasional birdsong could be heard. But the only sound now was the drowsy humming of bees attracted by flowering bushes which marked family plots. In sight of Tricia Elric's grave, both stopped dead in their tracks.

Someone was kneeling in front of her grave and digging up the ground! Stealthily laying aside their rose bouquets, both Ed and Al lifted up their hands, palms facing, ready to clap them together.

A moment before they acted, the intruder looked back, then swiftly stood up. It was Winry!

"Winry!" exclaimed Al, "how did you know we would come here?"

One side of Ed's mouth quirked up, it didn't take a rocket scientist (did he really just think that? Another machine world term) to figure out where they would go. Winry smiled and stepped aside to give them an unobstructed view of the grave. They saw a small round bush, covered with glossy dark green foliage, with tiny white roses scattered amongst the leaves. A gentle breeze struck up, and a faint tinkling sound was heard coming from the bush.

Al exclaimed again, this time with delight. "Oh, Winry! A wind rose bush!"

Winry blushed and ducked her head. "A customer short on cash traded three of these bushes for repair work I did on his arm; I only needed two for my parent's graves, so I decided to plant the other in front of Tricia's."

"It's beautiful, Winry, that was very thoughtful of you."

"I know it would have been best to ask you two first, but wind roses are tricky, they don't like to be out of the ground for too long."

Ed's throat tightened, he had a sudden, strong urge to go up and hug the stuffing out of Winry; but suspicious she had a wrench hidden somewhere on her person, he hung back. Al had no such hesitation, and he hugged without fear.

Winry knew what Ed was afraid of - so she decided to mess with his head a bit by flashing him an evil grin over Al's shoulder - and she got the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

"I hope it grows here O.K."

"As long as the hole is filled with water and some rose food before planting, Al, it actually is quite hardy. I think the story of it being finicky is an urban legend, designed to boost it's mystique - and the price." Wind rose bushes were incredibly expensive - the equivalent of a months' pay for a State Alchemist.

Ed picked up the rose bouquet he'd brought and ruefully said, "I guess these can't hold a candle to that."

"Nonsense, Ed; you have red roses, and Al brought blue. They'll go very well with these white ones."

Touche, Winry, touche. (yet another machine world term, what was with him today?)

Admiring the effect later, Ed had to admit WInry was right.

The sun was going down as the trio walked back to the Rockbell house; the brothers close enough to Winry between them she would be unable to swing any wrenches. Ed carried her water bucket, and Al her gardening tools - a sudden flashback came up in Ed's mind - walking to school along this road, he and his best friend Asimov Hodgeson used to fight over who would carry Winry's books.

What ever had happened to him? Oh yeah, he'd been killed on the Northern Front, fighting against the Drachmeans, his body laying somewhere in the Briggs Mountains. Poor Asimov, who would never touch the soil of Risembool again.

There were too many bad memories in Risembool: the valley looked idyllic, but the endless decades of war had deeply scarred it's people. So many maimed veterans, so many families with father, mother, son, daughter, uncle, aunt, brother, & sister - shaped holes in their hearts.

Wait a minute. Why was he thinking like this? He, Edward Elric had nothing to kick about. Sure both their parents were dead, the family home a pile of ashes; reduced to a handful of photographs, but he was home again. Al restored both physically and mentally, Scar and all the homunculi (he hoped) were dead, and peace - such a rare commodity - was in the air.

What were a few wrench induced contusions compared to that?

End Chapter Three.


	4. Chapter 4

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

"No positive actions come without negative consequences" - Drachmean adage

**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist (only any OCs I've created), I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta: ** ShiniLuv

**Warning:** Some bad language; also implied sex between RoyxOC

**Summary:** Ed got a new mission to complete: Go to the country of New Britain and get ideas on setting up a new military intelligence operation on the lines of that country's MI7. He makes one last visit to Risembool before his departure and Winry sees him off with another wrench to the head.

Chapter Four: In which Roy and Ed have a 'heart-to-heart' talk, and Ed is shaken, not stirred; or: No yaoi please, we're New British!

Flashback over: Ed was back in Central, waiting outside Roy's office in the government building for his final orders before taking the train to Bourbon.

_'Hurry up and wait'_, was the military's motto, thought Ed. He'd been there for almost two hours and was starting to fall asleep in his chair when the inner door finally opened and the New British ambassador emerged, followed by Roy. They appeared to be just winding up a conversation.

_'It's showtime!' _he thought again. Edward finger combed his hair out of his face and sat up straighter, best to look alive. He didn't really follow what the ambassodor was saying, it was the usual empty diplomatic platitudes. Ed vaguely wondered how Roy could stand it - back when they first met, Mustang had been a soldier's solider, who preferred action to ass kissing.

After some more useless nattering, she finally extended her hand. Roy gently took her fingers, inclined his head (_'wait! did he just brush them with his lips?!'_), and clicked his heels. The action made Edward feel slightly queasy - the Nazis in the machine world bowed, and clicked heels like that.

_'It might be a good idea to stand up'_, he thought; then he bowed when the ambassador turned and looked quizzically at him.

"Ah, Ambassador Pankhurst, may I introduce you to Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

He hesitated when she extended her hand to him (_oh, great, the same one Mustang just kissed!_), then gently (very gently) took the same fingers in his right hand and bowed again, murmuring something uselessly polite.

"Colonel Elric, I am charmed to meet you." (_Colonel? When was I promoted?_) He looked up in surprise and found himself facing a pair of frank and appraising grey eyes. Ed blushed slightly, but resisted the urge to bow again, a third time would have been overdoing it.

After Roy had seen the ambassador to her car, Edward and the Fuhrer once again faced each other over the latter's desk. Something about the room bothered Ed, there was an odd odor in the air he couldn't seem to identify; each time he thought he could put a name to it, the answer slipped away.

An image popped into his head, in the outer office, Roy and Ambassador Pankhurst smiling at one another with - satisfied expressions on their faces; smiles which had nothing to do with trade pacts or tariff rates. A really horrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

It must have shown on his face because Roy took on a look of concern.

"Fullmetal, are you all right?"

"I'm - I'm; fine, um - my stomach's been hurting me - a bit."

"Are you sure, Fullmetal? You looked like you were about to 'toss your cookies'". Roy frowned, then went on "I suggest you go to the hospital wing and see the HQ doctor for a check-up before you leave for Bourbon."

_Another digital prostate exam?_ Ed gritted his teeth, and hoped his disgust showed on his face. _Yeah, like I fucking just live for those! Thanks, but no thanks!_

"Uhhh," Ed rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, wondering if Roy could read his thoughts.

"Roy, can I ask you a question?"

Mustang waited patiently, with a 'get on with it' expression.

"Roy, - um, - - ummmm,"

"Yessss, Fullmetal?" Mustang started drumming his fingers; Edward finally got it out.

"Have you been - erm - 'schtupping' the ambassadors of Bourbon, and New Britain?"

Roy looked confused. "'Schtupping'? What kind of a word is that?

"Uhhh," Ed tried to buy time for his thoughts, "it's a piece of machine world slang, I - uh - heard."

"And it means...?" Roy's face split into a wicked grin Ed didn't like. And he was smiling because Edward Elric - from his collarbone to the roots of his hair - had just blushed an intriguing shade of crimson.

Edward opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. His blush deepened, he couldn't look at Roy, who was leaning back in his chair and clearly enjoying every second of the younger man's discomfiture.

"Roy?" he finally croaked. "Have you been having, um - sex - with these women?"

Mustang shrugged, "Hey, I can't help it if they keep sending me women; and I can't help it if they find me irresistible. Besides, I'm a man, and I have needs." He paused to throw Ed a sharp look. "Don't look at me like that Fullmetal, I was born to be sexy as hell."

Leaning forward again, he fixed Edward with a mock leer. "Would you like to join in next time, Colonel Elric?" Edward leapt up from his chair, his face white, eyes wide, and holding up his hands in horror.

There was a familiar smirk on Mustang's face.

_'Bastard'_, thought Ed as he returned to his seat, _'he got me again'_.

Roy clapped his hands together, "Right!" Ed flinched. "Let's get down to business!" He tossed a small pile of envelopes over the desk to Edward.

"These are letters of introduction to people you will need to contact in New Britain, they will help you set up your new intelligence operation."

There were six envelopes, each bearing a single name, none of which were familiar to Edward. "The first one is the most important."

Ed scanned it: Colonel Ian Bond.

"He's your counterpart in MI7, so he'll be the first to contact once you land in Londonium." Roy kept on "The ambassador tells me the guy has a reputation for being suave, very sophisticated, kind of like a ladies man, like me."

Ed slapped his forehead with his flesh hand, _Oh, man, from the frying pan into the fire! Just what I needed, another Roy Mustang!_ His mind's eye pictured a gigantic smirk with a New British accent.

"I'm not finished, Fullmetal" said Roy in a dangerous don't-ignore-me kind of voice - he'd seen Elric's golden eyes start to glaze over - so Edward looked up quickly.

"Like I was saying, Bond is an upper class New Brit; old family, the best schools and all that. His country has had decades of relative peace, while Amestris had been wasting it's time squabbling with the neighbors; we've fallen behind socially." Roy paused to consider his next words, "He will probably try and get away with treating you like a rube; but you're a bright boy, don't let him intimidate you."

He didn't need to add "And watch your ass", but he did so anyway. The interview seemed to be over, so Ed stowed the envelopes in an inner coat pocket (it was getting chilly again in Central), and prepared to take his leave. He bowed to his superior, then headed for the door with the most military like walk he could muster.

"Elric!" He stopped and spun around. Roy was grinning as he tossed an object, something golden flashed in the air and Ed caught it in his metal hand: colonel's bars.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Fullmetal". Roy saluted and Ed snapped one of his own - careful to do it with his flesh hand this time.

End Chapter Four


	5. Chapter 5

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

"Whatever does not cause my destruction will empower me" - Xingan proverb

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist (except any OCs I've created), I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta: **ShiniLuv

Chapter Five: In which Edward and Alphonse go for an unexpected swim

Five minutes after the ferry left the protection of the L'Escargot breakwater, Edward Elric realized one important fact: He was prone to seasickness. He was violently ill over the railing, losing the dinner he'd eaten in a L'Escargot bistro only a few hours before.

While his fellow passengers took the air on the fantail, socialized in the lounge, or gathered for a late buffet supper on the main deck, Ed lay in his bunk, a puddle of queasy misery; moving off it only to retch into a basin. He ate nothing and drank little, for even a few sips of water caused him to vomit.

So it was with great relief the ferry entered the estuary of the Thamar River and it's pitching and roiling - plus the roiling of Ed's stomach - finally ceased. By the time it tied up at the dock, Ed felt well enough to shrug on his coat, grab his valise, and come out to lean over the railing for his first view of Londonium.

Now he really did feel like a rube, a hick, a country bumpkin - size-wise, Central was Lior as compared with the metropolis of Londonium. The city stretched in every directions - buildings as far as Edward's eyes could see - no, not wall to wall buildings - he noticed patches of bare tree branches scattered among them. Now he recalled Alphonse's last letter, raving about Londonium's park system: parks of every size, from the hundreds of acres, to little neighborhood "pocket parks".

_Green space was something Central - and other Amestrisan cities lacked_ he recalled Roy saying he wanted to do something about that once he got more pressing matters cleared away.

The sounds of a ship docking brought Edward's attention back to the here and now, and he watched with interest as tug boats pushed the ferry up against it's dock. Chains rattled as gigantic anchors plunged into the river, and the crew tossed thick hawsers down to equally massive dock workers.

The gangplank came down and was secured, now his fellow travelers were surging towards it, eager to touch dry land again.

Edward hung back to avoid the crush - he listened to the babble of voices - some in languages he didn't recognize - and generally just 'people watched'. Some wore unusual - to him - modes of dress, and Edward briefly wondered if his clothing marked him as an Amestrisan (while he was standing at the railing before the ship left port - and his seasickness drove him to his cabin - he'd heard excited whispering "Ohhh, see that odd symbol on his coat? And that silver chain? He must be a State Alchemist from Amestris!"); did he really dress that oddly?

And if he stuck out like a sore thumb; did Alphonse stick out too? He'd never mentioned it in his letters home, but the 16 year old would have been too modest to admit he was having difficulties. For the most part, his letters were mostly descriptions of what he'd seen, heard, smelled, and tasted. Alphonese Elric didn't like to talk about himself, he preferred to listen, which is probably what made him so easy for Izumi to teach in those last few years she'd had left.

(If only he'd known how close to death she was, he would have taken her frequent beatings with more grace.

The only time Alphonse complained was to say he missed Pinako's cooking, (_Pinako's cooking? Was he serious? That was like waxing nostalgic about the food at Central HQ's commissary_) and asked for a box of her traditional Risembool cookies.

Edward mused on this and other things while he continued to watch passengers disembark. The dock below was a boil of people; most were there to greet arriving passengers, but he also noticed a group of stevedores starting to unload cargo.

Speaking of greetings: where was Alphonse? Oopse, spoke too soon. There was a small group of people running onto the dock from the street, then pushing their way through the mob below. At the lead of the figures, he saw a familiar moss green coat with a mop of caramel-colored hair above; the figure didn't look up until it was close to the gangplank, then it tilted to show him a much beloved face.

**"BRO - THER!!"** Alphonse Elric, the Soul Alchemist, raised both arms and waved madly while grinning hugely. An answering grin split Edward's face and he raised a hand in greeting.

Now he could see Al was surrounded by four young men who were also grinning and waving up at him. Must be his college friends, Al had mentioned he'd made a few, all described in amusing thumbnail sketches in his letters home. Thanks to those, Ed actually recognized all of them.

Unable to wait for the trickle of passengers to clear the gangplank, Alphonse came bounding up to meet his brother, eyes and face bright with anticipation. The least Ed could do was meet him halfway - pulling the long strap of his valise over his head - Edward started down just in time to see the unthinkable.

There was only one other passenger Alphonse needed to clear, a small bald man struggling with a heavy portmanteux - at the back of his mind, Ed thought that was strange. - Most passengers, including himself - had pre-arranged for their luggage to be delivered to their destinations.

It seemed like Alphonse - with a couple of his friends close behind - would pass by with plenty of room to spare - when the man suddenly (_an accident, or on purpose?_) tripped, and stumbled to his left, slamming hard into Alphonse, and knocking the boy off his feet.

Al staggered, tried hard to keep his balance, he nearly stayed on his feet before he rolled over the canvas side of the gangplank and into space, then down, down to the cold waters of the River Thamar.

Alphonse knew how to swim, but he was wearing a long, heavy coat, the water here was far colder than the Rain River, and in his brother's flailing fall, Edward saw his wasn't wearing his gloves - the one with the arrays sewn into the palms.

Edward didn't think twice - shedding his valise and coat, he leapt over the low side of the gangplank, aiming close for the white splash which marked Al's entry point into the river.

He gasped despite himself - the water felt like he'd just jumped into a bathtub filled with ice - after it closed over his head, Ed realized it also was extremely murky - where was his brother?

Ed needed air, so he kicked hard for the surface, and came up just in time to see one of Al's hands, waving frantically. Ed dove again, in the general direction of the hand - he could barely see his own hand in front of his face. He reached out, and touched cloth - taking a tight hold, he kicked for the surface again. Once there, he pulled upwards - hard, and Al's face, choking and coughing, broke the river's surface.

Edward had his brother up where he could breathe, but they were still in trouble. There was no place to climb out, people above them were shouting and running about, but he didn't know how they could help.

Alphonse's wet coat was starting to drag him back under, and worse yet; Ed could feel his human muscles start to cramp. His treading movements became weaker.

Only one thing to do, Ed thought. He really didn't want to flash his alchemical powers in public, but he felt he had no choice. Placing one arm around Alphonse's neck, then the other under the shoulders of the struggling teen, Ed clapped his hands together.

There was a bang, a flash; a sizzling ball of alchemical energy appeared between his palms. Carefully holding them just a few inches apart kept the energy in one place. The water immediately around them started to steam, then bubble lightly as it warmed to body temperature.

The warmth seemed to give Alphonse fresh energy, his water treading became surer, less jerky, and Ed's cramps eased. That was a little better, now they had a stronger chance of getting out of this alive.

A _'whoop-whoop-whoop'_ sounded to their right; Edward saw a small boat with a flashing red light on top, marked 'River Patrol' edging into the space between ferry and dock. Two men at the bow were reaching a long pole towards them, with one shouting "Grab 'old, mate!"

Edward broke contact and let the energy ball fade, grabbed the pole with his right hand and brought it towards Alphonse, who gratefully clutched it.

With the men of the Londonium River Patrol pulling, and Ed pushing, they got Alphonse onto the boat's deck. Ed slowly climbed up until two brawny arms grabbed him and hauled him in like he weighed nothing.

He sat, gasping, against the bow railing. Al was on his hands and knees, helplessly retching up what appeared to be a few gallons of dirty water. One of the boat men enthusiastically thumped him on the back, crooning "Let it all out, laddie, let it all out."

He did it so hard, Ed was surprised his brother wasn't flattened by each "pat". A shadow fell across him, "Here chap, you need this"; the voice's owner then knelt down and wrapped an old blanket around Ed's shoulders.

He didn't want it at first because he was more concerned about his little brother. Then the boat cleared the ferry's bulk and a breeze kicked up; he began to shiver, and pulled the blanket tighter.

Alphonse had ceased his puking, so the same two men who had rescued them wrapped him head to toe in blankets, then picked him up like he was a roll of carpeting, and carried him off.

Edward felt an arm under his left one, hoisting him up, then helping him to walk in the same direction.

Their destination turned out to be a small room just behind the pilot house - heated by a black, pot-bellied stove, it was blessedly warm. His parker parked him in a chair next to the stove - he saw Al lying on a cot nearby - and Edward suddenly realized his teeth were chattering.

Another brawny arm handed him a hot cup of coffee, and still another began plucking at his shirt, saying he had to get out of his wet clothes - making it impossible for him to drink it.

"Ere, Bill, leave off for a bit."

So Bill 'left off' and allowed Edward time to savor the heat of the cup thawing the fingers of his left hand - he blew over the coffee's surface and took a sip.

And he promptly began coughing as something burned down his throat and up his nose.

_Brandy!_

He could hear chuckling at his reaction to the liquor, "Poor wee laddie!" Bill's droll voice, "He must only drink milk!"

Ed smirked - if only they knew.

He took another, more cautious sip. It still wasn't any easier to drink, but he could feel a comforting warmth in the pit of his stomach. He had to be careful though, he hadn't eaten anything which would soak up the brandy since he'd left L'Escargot.

"Feel better, laddie?"

"Yes, thank you - thank you for coming so quickly, you saved my brother's life."

Both men beamed - even their teeth looked brawny!

"Now, my lad," said his first rescuer, "Let's have those wet clothes off before you catch your death!"

Ed hesitated. What would they say when they saw his automail?

He found out soon enough, the men of the River Patrol were very efficient. In less than a minute, his sodden shirt and gloves were on the floor, Bill and the other men quietly appraising his metal arm.

"uhhhh..." Ed stammered, he raised his arm and a thin stream of water issued from his elbow joint. "It's called automail."

These men were too professional to gawk; "You get a bit of water in that arm, laddie, might not something short out?"

Ed's stomach sank. If water had damaged arm's innards, that beautiful arm of Titania metal, Winry would **KILL** him! At the very least, more wrenches would find their marks.

Fortunately, he had an extra arm and leg packed in his baggage - which probably had been delivered to his new lodgings by now. Great. He had no choice now. "I'll have to remove it and dry it out" he explained, "But I'll need help."

He carefully explained to Bill the way to detach him arm, by gently pulling sideways, tilting, then pulling back; Ed gritting his teeth as the neural connections were severed; then holding it upside down by the hand so the water dripped out.

Winry was a mechanical genius, all vulnerable parts were enclosed, and she'd carved special channels for water to quickly run off. Once most of the water was shaken off, Bill buffed the outside with a towel, then reserved his actions to snap the arm back into place.

Edward hissed through his teeth and clutched his shoulder so hard the knuckles turned white. "You all right, laddie?"

"Yeah, it's just that," Ed grimaced, "it hurts as the nerve re-connect."

Ed then remembered he'd passed out when this new arm was first installed, Fainting in front of Winry and Pinako was one thing, but... He blushed - it would be embarrassing to faint in front of strangers.

"Guys, I'll be fine, don't worry about me, please. See to my brother."

Bill and the others accepted that explanation, and they went over to the cot to remove Alphonse's wet clothes and dry him off. Which gave Ed time to gracefully slip to the floor and quietly black out.

When he woke, he was lying on a stretcher and a man in a white jacket was covering him with a blanket. The boat had docked somewhere down-river, he saw the ferry in the distance; when Ed turned his head to the right, he saw Alphonse, also on a stretcher, being loaded into an ambulance.

"Um, I - I'm O.K! Really I am" he protested weakly.

When Ed tried to get up, Bill suddenly appeared in his field of vision and shoved him back down with one enormous paw. "Nay, lay down laddie. You gave us quite a turn there, to see you a-laying on the floor."

In some way, he seemed to be disappointed in Ed, who answered with a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, but - I - I just get embarrassed at the thought of passing out in front of strangers." It wasn't much of an explanation, but it seemed to mollify Bill. He patted Ed's shoulder, "Dinna fash yourself, laddie, but everyone we pull from the Thamar gets looked at by a doctor."

Defeated, Edward lay back and allowed himself to be carried into the ambulance and set down next to his brother.

_Welcome to New Britain_, he thought.

End Chapter Five.


	6. Chapter 6

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

"All people must be allowed to come to a personal plateau of inadequacy" - Meso-American saying

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

**Chapter summary:** Edward has been promoted to Colonel by Fuhrer Mustang, who has also sent him to the country of New Britain to study their military intelligence system. After a long journey west, topped by a sea-sickness marred ferry ride, Edward has barely arrived in New Britain's capitol, Londonium, when he has to jump into the icy-cold Thamar River to rescue Alphonse who may or may not have been pushed in.

Rating: T, for brief full frontal nudity (Edward's)

Chapter Six: In which Edward has female troubles

Sighing through his nose, Edward Elric sat up in his bed in "C" ward and quietly fumed. His original plan - now shot to hell - had been to lunch with Alphonse, then enjoy a long, hot bath at his lodgings. Instead, he and his brother had gone swimming in a freezing cold river, topped by a nice visit to St. Pixil's Hospital. Smashing, just smashing. And that was not even what was making him mad. Upon arrival at the hospital's emergency room, Ed insisted the doctors fist tend to Al, who'd swallowed more than a few mouthfuls of river; he also insisted he felt fine and didn't want to lay down. After patiently enduring his pulse being taken, and his temperature recorded, Ed had hopped off the table in the examing room and gone to the waiting room, where he nervously paced

This defiance brought Edward face-to-face with a species of human he'd never encountered before: the New British hospital matron. Mrs. Deadlocke was a tall hatchet-faced woman wearing a no nonsense grey dress and white shoes. An uncommonly fierce woman who had the special knack of making full-grown men feel like naughty children. What the Armed Forces of Amestris could do with a few hundred women like her! She made Pinako Rockbell look positively gentle in comparison. She first ordered Edward to return to the examining room. After he sulkily complied, she further demanded he divest himself of the rest of his wet clothing - including his undershorts. Not surprisingly, Edward naturally refused and walked away up the corridor, squelching along in his sodden boots. As a result, Edward was then met with the second most dangerous creature to be found in New British hospitals: nurses.

Harmless on their own, but absolutely terrifying in packs! Edward hadn't gotten more than a half dozen strides away when Mrs. Deadlocked barked in a voice which made his blood run cold: "Nurses! Seize him!" A group of perhaps a dozen pretty girls in identical blue dresses and starched white aprons swarmed around him. Several pairs of hands suddenly grabbed hold of his arms, and half dragged - half carried him back to the examining room; where to his horror, they pulled off his boots, pants - and - and - his boxer shorts!

"HEY!" he yelled in outrage, "Was that really necessary??!!"

"Now, now, ducks" replied the matron, "Your mummy probably saw you naked as a jaybird lots of times."

"Yeah - but," Ed sputtered "but that was when I was little!"

His protests made no headway, and when he tried to pull the old blanket he'd gotten on the patrol boat over his nakedness, "that filthy rag" was promptly snatched away. Then the nurses insisted on drying him off and rubbing his body down with alcohol - the sight of his metal leg hardly slowing them down - and added insult to embarrassment by replacing his clothes with a thin cotton hospital gown which only came to mid-thigh. Ed grumbled so much about his state of near nudity, one of the nurses took pity - of a sort - and gave him a scratchy wool blanket to wrap around his waist. Then they half pulled - half pushed him to ward "C" and into a bed. He still refused to lay down until Mrs. Deadlocke fixed him with a stern look, and merely pointed at the pillow. Tired of fighting, Ed meekly ran up the white flag.

To his great surprise, he actually fell asleep.

He was woken some time later by a man he recognized as the same doctor who had examined Al earlier. He opened his mouth to ask about his brother, only to have an oral thermometer shoved under his tongue. The doctor - "Dr. Luthor" was typed on his identity badge - was a large cheery man who had the maddening habit of refusing to let Edward get a word in edgewise. He ended each little check with a loud "There's a good lad!" until Ed wanted to scream! He took his pulse, listened to his heart and lungs, made him say "Ah!", shone a light in his eyes, and flexed his automail. _If he tells me "turn your head and cough",_ he thought mutinously, _I'm leaving, and I don't care how I look!_

Ed speculated that "flex test" was merely to satisfy the good doctor's curiosity - and he was right. The man had all kinds of questions about automail, from selection of the steel (_I don't know, it depends on the mechanic) _to how the nerve ports were installed _(as painfully as possible)_ When the questions got too technical for Ed to answer, he got Dr. Luthor to write (more like illegibly scrawl) his address, and Ed promised to have Winry contact him. Which led back to Ed sitting up in bed and fuming. Dr. Luthor had given him a clean bill of health and escaped without telling him how Alphonse was.

Ed had no spare clothes - most of which were packed in his baggage - which had by now been delivered to his lodgings. He had an emergency change of clothing in his valise - but he'd dropped that on the gangplank before jumping into the river. So Edward sighed through his nose again. He could hardly go walking barefoot and half naked thorough Londonium, nor did he have the money for cab fare. He wondered where the front desk was, he was anxious about Al, and wanted to find out about his condition. He put his head back on the pillow, laid his flesh hand over his eyes, and blew another sigh in melodramatic fashion.

"Excuse me - sir?" A tentative New British voice.

Ed uncovered and opened his eyes. Two men - wait - two of Alphonse's college friends, one stood at the side, the other at the foot of the bed. The man holding his coat was of medium height, with a thick thatch of unruly hair generally called 'ginger'. He had a clean shaven ruddy face, a square chin and greenish eyes. The other man, bearing Ed's valise was much taller, over six feet, gangly, and also clean shaven, but with a more pointed chin. His eyes were brown, matching the hair, which was wavy on top, but cropped short at the back and sides. His rather large ears stuck out to the sides, and they were bright red with embarrassment. Perhaps he feared he was the cause of Ed's mulish expression.

The melodrama vanished in an instant, and to put them at their ease, Ed favored them with his warmest smile, one usually only Al got to see. "Uh, hullo", said the valise bearer, "I'm Alphonse's roommate, Pratchett Wodehouse; and this fellow is Prince Charles"; a wave indicated the coat bearer. Edward raised one eyebrow in polite inquiry. "Well, uh, I know it sounds odd, but my family name is Charles, and uh..." the man flushed and trailed off.

Ed continued to smile, and he also extended his metal hand to be shaken - Pratchett hesitated briefly, then reddening; he snatched the hand and gave it one strong pump and Prince did the same. Pratchett's voice had a sort of 'plummy' upper class accent, while Prince's sounded more like that of Bill, the river patroller. He could see both were dying to ask the same sort of questions Dr. Luthor had; it was obvious auto mail wasn't common in New Britain. "Thank you, I needed fresh clothes, the darn nurses took the ones I was wearing!" "Well, Mr. (he was a Colonel, but he let it pass) Elric; after a dip in our river, you wouldn't want to wear those clothes again." Pratchett had a point there, Ed's hair was all matted and smelly; and his skin felt oily - no telling how badly the stench had clung to his clothes.

It gave him the strongest urge to shower for an hour - scrubbing with steel wool - then take the longest, hottest bath he could, not coming out until his hand and foot had pruned. Now he was getting off the track, perhaps they could tell him how Alphonse was. "Um - have you seen my brother?" The sad looks on their faces scared him for a moment - had something happened? "We're not family, Mr. Elric, so they won't let us see him. The matron (Mrs. Deadlocke again?) said he was 'resting'." They looked so downtrodden, Ed gave them another warm smile. "Let me get dressed, and we'll see about a visit." Ed grabbed the valise in one hand - the other keeping that blanket in place - as he slid out of bed and ducked behind a nearby privacy screen.

**Author's note:** Yesh, these chapters have been rather short, but I always fear a tendency to meander. The last thing I want to do is bore the reader to death. Chapter slightly re-written, I've added a little more detail in some places, plus descriptions of Pratchett, and Prince.


	7. Chapter 7

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

"One is lesser for never having loved another, yet one is greater if they have loved, even if that love is lost - Ishbalan proverb (props to FMA forum poster, reachums for the quote)

**Warning:** Mild movie spoilers.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, it is the property of the wonderfully talented (more talented than moi? Certainemont!) Hiromu Arakawa; all I own are any OCs I created for this story.

**After-beta: **ShiniLuv

Chapter Seven: In which Edward escapes.

Padding through the hospital corridors in his stocking feet and getting lost - twice - Edward and his new companions finally locaetd the main desk. A suspiciously (after what had already occurred, Ed now regarded nurses with extreme wariness) friendly nurse gave him back his boots (could be salvaged), and his State Alchemist watch (totally wrecked). Then she dug into the lost and found bin and gave him a pair of cast-off slippers; and finally, directions to the Casualty Ward where his brother was. They still got lost - twice.

Ed's heart was in his mouth when he finally saw Al, pale and still in the hospital bed. A tube ran from a hissing oxygen tank to a mask over his face, and an intravenous tube was plugged into his right hand. The boy stirred and opened his eyes soon after Ed picked up his left and held it. He pulled down the mask and smiled back. "Brother, I'm alright" he whispered. "I see that, but there are some people here who want to hear it for themselves." He stepped back and gestured towards the foot of Al's bed.

Right on cue, the grinning faces of Pratchett and Prince appeared, and Al flashed a twin to Ed's warm smile right back at them. While they bantered back and forth, trading genial insults, Edward began to notice something odd about Al. "Al? You spent as much time in that river as I did - definately swallowed more river - so why don't you smell of the Thamar?"

Alphonse had the grace to blush. "The nurses gave me a sponge bath and washed my hair - they were quite nice about it, and kept apologizing for taking all my clothes."

**_NICE?_** Ed felt a twinge of jealousy. "The nurses were nice to you?!"

Al looked confused. "Brother, you're raising your voice, remember this is a hospital!"

Ed tried to keep his tone neutral. "The nurses here ganged up and attacked me! Just before they threw me on an examining table and ripped my pants - heck, everything off! Then they laughed at me when I protested!"

Al's face reddened - then he giggled. What a mental picture. He'd forgotten his older brother held nurses with the same regard he gave to milk. "Brother, you must have done something."

Ed stuck his lower lip out. "Well, I did refuse to removed them myself, and I also refused to get into bed and lay down..." He trailed off.

"I say, Mr. Elric!" Both brothers looked over at Prince, who had suddenly gone rather pale. "Was the matron you met a Mrs. Deadlocke?"

Ed nodded dourly, and Prince looked horror-struck. "You've, you've encountered her then?" One blonde eyebrow rose in inquiry. Just what was going on here?

"She's the Patient Crusher, Mr. Elric! She's evil incarnate, she brings brave men to their knees, sir!" Only a few years ago, Edward had confronted the supremely evil woman known as Dante; someone who made Mrs. Deadlocke look positively sweet, so he couldn't quite believe that statement.

But then...Prince's soliloquy brought a certain blond mechanic to Edward's mind - she also brought strong men - and a certain childhood friend - to their knees. Alphonse's smirk told him he was thinking the same thing. Once things settled down here, he would have to arrange a trip for Winry to New Britain; then Al's friends would know the true meaning of 'fear'.

"Excuse me!" A dark shadow fell over Ed and his spine prickled, both Pratchett and Prince appeared to cower with fear, and Al somehow turned even paler. Ed turned his head slightly and slid his left eye the rest of the way. Mrs. Deadlocke.

"Young man!" she seethed "Why are you disturbing this patient? He nearly drowned today, and he needs to rest!" This gained a sheepish smile from Ed. "Yeah, I know, I fell in with him." Al leaned back against his pillow and flashed his most charming smile at the dragonish matron. "It's all right, Mrs. Deadlocke, he's my brother!"

Her fierce expression never wavered, and finally, even Al - who'd faced down homunculi, the Gate of Truth, the troops of the Thule society, his Sensei, and a dangerous journey to another world - turned ashen again. He was brave, but not that brave!

"This patient will be held overnight for observation, and now he needs to rest. You can come back and pester him tomorrow!"

Ed sighed. Like fate, he couldn't fight New British hospital matrons. They said a quick goodbye to Al before Ed grabbed his coat and valise, then the trio carefully edged past Mrs. Deadlocke. Turning in the doorway to take one last look, he saw Alphonse mumbling around a thermometer in his mouth while Mrs. Deadlocke took his pulse. Poor Al - lucky Ed.

Edward, Pratchett, and Prince walked quietly through seemingly endless hospital corridors until they saw the 'Exit' sign, then they couldn't get out of there into the fresh air soon enough. Once outside, Ed gratefully sucked in oxygen which didn't reek of antiseptic and sickness; the slightly sooty smell reminded him of Central. His companions began to walk south, "Come this way, Mr. Elric! We'll give you a lift, you can't walk far in those slippers!"

Not to mention Edward had no idea where to go in this strange city. Next to the hospital was a small public parking lot where Prince kept his car, a canary yellow Humber-mobile with bright red leather seats. It was only a 2-door roadster, so the obliging Pratchett good-naturedly shoehorned himself into the backseat with the valise. Prince started the car and turned on the heater, which blew welcome warm air over Ed's chilled and slippered feet.

"Where to, Mr. Elric?"

"Ummmm - " Ed dug into an inner hidden pocket of his coat. "12 Paddington Gardens" he read from the paper he'd found in there.

Prince's eyes widened and Pratchett whistled in admiration.

"Huh? What?"

"Paddington Gardens" Prince was very enthusiastic. "That's diplomat territory, it's just off Embassy Row." Ed groaned. Of course, Roy would have put him near the Amestrisan Embassy. He hoped he wouldn't have to waste his time here being polite to useless government flunkeys. "Uh, you know where that is then?"

"Oh, yes!" Prince was being insufferably chirpy now. "My father works in the Caledonian Embassy - our country won independence from New Britain last year!" Edward never paid much attention to politics - within or without Amestris - so he hadn't known that. He'd had his fill of politics during his time in the machine world in general; Germany in particular where backing the wrong party could get one killed.

"Well, Mr. Elric, you must be dying for a good wash, I'll have you home in a tick!" Prince put the car in gear, backed out of the lot, and into Londonium afternoon traffic. After a few minutes, Ed reflected Prince wasn't a bad driver - certainly he was better at it than Ed had been - Prince was just - creative. After a few near misses with oncoming busses and honking trucks, Ed added another word: 'reckless'. It was all right for Prince to risk his own neck - and his pretty car - but those of his passengers too?

Well, Prince was as good as his word, and a few hair raising minutes later, the car pulled up before a handsome stucco building; a brass nameplate announcing '12 Paddington Gardens' attached to the iron fence out front. Ed dug in the hidden pocket again to locate and produce a small ring with three keys. _Long, hot shower, here I come_! he thought while climbing out. Pratchett handed out the valise before climbing out and repositioning himself in the front seat. His knees were probably grateful for the extra few inches.

"We've got studying to do, Mr. Elric, but we'll swing by St. Pixil's tomorrow and fetch Alphonse". Trisha Elric had raised her boys to have manners, Edward bowed and thanked them for the ride home, also for taking tomorrow's task off his mind. Al was lucky to have friends like these. They drove off with calls of "Bye!" and "Cheerio!" , and their waving hands out the car windows. Ed waved back until they were out of sight.

He would have stood there for awhile to admire the handsome court his new home was in, as well as explore the fenced in park - he supposed the third key was to open it's gate - but dusk was falling, and it was getting too dim to see clearly. He would try to find the time tomorrow in better light, with rested eyes. The other two keys fit easily, the large brass one into the front door and then the smaller silver one into the lock of his apartment.

Short entry way/hallway, kitchen on the left, the next door up from it led to a comfortable - looking drawing room with wood already set out in the fireplace. A single door on his right opened on to a small sitting room - his two small trunks were already there, set smack in the middle. He edged around them to a connecting bedroom - just off that was a large, white tile bathroom/lavatory; opposite that room was a small dressing room. Edward was impressed, after years of living out of suitcases, in single rooms which combined kitchen, bedroom, and a living room - this apartment was like a palace. He dumped his coat and valise on the bed, then headed for the tub, shedding clothes as he went.

Edward used up all the hot water. He washed his hair three times before slathering on some conditioner (it snarled horribly if he didn't) before scrubbing his skin until it was red. He'd just started to rinse off when the water suddenly turned ice cold, and the rest of the shower became a race with hypothermia. Teeth chattering, Ed had switched off the taps and he was reaching towards the sink vanity for a towel when a loud "OH!" made him duck back into the shower enclosure.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Colonel Elric!" came a flustered female voice from just outside the bathroom door. Ed peeked curiously around the corner at a heavy set, middle-aged woman. She was wearing a shapeless dress, a blue handkerchief on her head and stood holding a small stack of his clothing. He raised one blonde eyebrow in a 'who are you?' query. Both blushed at the same time.

"I'm Mrs. Ravensworth, Colonel Elric."

"Ohhh?"

"The agency sent me, sir, to be your housekeeper. I thought I'd come in a little early and unpack your baggage - sir."

"What agency?"

"It was arranged through the Amestrisan Embassy, Colonel."

Ed made a face, then nodded. "I hadn't considered they would do that, I apologize for doubting you."

"It's my fault, Colonel." Mrs. Ravensworth was a humble woman, and she was used to abasing herself to mollify her employers. "I should have announced myself first."

"I wouldn't have heard you over the noise of the shower anyway, Mrs. Ravensworth, there's no need to worry yourself."

Silence for a moment as neither had anything else to add to that. Edward finally broke it; how was he going to get dressed with her near by?

"Ummm, Mrs. Ravensworth?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"I threw my clothes all over; could you just toss them on the sink vanity here? Ummm, sorry for making such a mess." Mrs. Ravensworth was very understanding. "I've seen worse, Colonel Elric, no need to worry."

Once he was sure she wouldn't see him naked, Ed reached out again and grabbed that towel before spending several minutes ensuring all the water was out of his automail limbs. His leg was designed so any water which got into it collected in a special reservoir in the heel. Pushing a hidden button on the knee opened this reservoir and allowed all the water to drain out at once.

He shook the leg for a few minutes to get the last drops of water out, and carefully dried all the interior parts he could reach. As for the arm, simply bending his elbow opened the joint and did essentially the same thing. He should really remove the arm and turn it upside down, but he really couldn't do it with just one hand. Besides, he really didn't feel like stressing his nervous system like that twice in one day. Ed also dried the interior of this arm as thoroughly as possible, and he promised to oil the moving parts later. Now he was thousands of miles away from his mechanic, he couldn't afford to put off basic maintenance like he did in his tear-away teenage days.

Once that task was done, he reached out for two more towels. Wrapping the first one around his waist, he bend over and scraped all his hair in front of him. After giving it a gentle twist into a long ponytail to force out excess water, he wrapped the second towel around his head like a turban. Mrs. Ravensworth had set his boxers and black cotton pants on the door knob; when he emerged from the shower, he dried off the area below his waist and quickly slipped the clothes on before padding, barefoot into his bedroom.

There he found his shirt on the bedroom door knob; careful not to disturb the towel around his hair, he shrugged it on over his head. That was better. Previously, Edward had before worried about parading around half naked in front of the opposite sex; he used to wander around the Rockbell house with his shirt off all the time. When Winry was working on his automail, he often wore just his boxers, so he was puzzled by his sudden shyness.

Both trunks had been unpacked and the contents stored away, Mrs. Ravensworth had set out his brush and comb at a table in the dressing room. Ed sat down and carefully combed out his damp hair. He was so used to it long, he couldn't imagine wearing it short anymore, despite freshly washed hair being such a pain to maintain.

Snarls were unavoidable unless he first used conditioner, then combed and brushed it to remove any inevitable knots. He was so absorbed in this task he didn't realize his housekeeper had come to the doorway until she cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, Colonel Elric?" She jumped when he leapt up, dropping the comb, and coming down in a defensive stance.

"I - I'm dreadfully sorry, Colonel" she stammered "That's the second time I've startled you!"

An awkward silence again ensued between them; Edward had just opened his mouth to say something when a loud grumbling filled the air. He looked down in surprise when his stomach rumbled again, and he felt his face getting hot. "Ah, Colonel" his housekeeper smiled, "That is what I was meaning to ask you - I have prepared a bite of supper for you and it's just about ready."

His stomach telegraphed it's approval with another loud rumble. With all the things which had happened today, Ed suddenly realized no food had passed his lips in almost 24 hours and he was very hungry indeed. His last meal had been a plate of something called 'baked ziti', eaten just before the ferry sailed from L'Escargot. It had been delicious, but he'd thrown it up once the ferry entered the Jersey channel's choppy waters. Other than that, there was the cup of brandy-laced coffee, but that didn't count as food.

Ed slowly became aware Mrs. Ravensworth was still standing there, waiting for an answer. Apparently, the growling of his innards wasn't enough. "That would be fine, I'll finish this and be right out."

The 'bite of supper' - turtle soup (a new experience, but Ed discovered he liked it), roast beef, and little red potatoes - plus a selection of fruit for dessert was delicious and most appreciated. Utterly sated, Edward sprawled in an overstuffed chair in front of a crackling fire in the drawing room. He couldn't have eaten another bite.

Mrs. Ravensworth had opened the liquor cabinet - bottles of port, brandy, whiskey, and cognac above - a confusing selection of glassware below - and set out an open box of cigars. This was apparently what New British gentlemen imbibed in after dinner; so Ed could forgive her for assuming. _It's not her fault for not knowing I neither drink nor smoke_ was his drowsy thought bubble. He was so relaxed he could easily fall asleep in this chair.

Ed could hear faint sounds in the kitchen of Mrs. Ravensworth clearing up, she'd already discussed tomorrow's breakfast with him before withdrawing. Oh joy, more food. Ed had always had a healthy appetite as a child - Pinako used to make jokes about his 'bottomless stomach'. During his teen years, he could stuff himself senseless, then take a long nap, and never gain an ounce. The exception had been the two years he'd spent trapped in the machine world. When not ill from one ailment or another (he had no immunities to machine world illnesses like pneumonia), or in constant pain from poorly fitted prosthetics, he was too busy angrily lashing out at his father to eat.

Oh, he had issues - abandonment issues, trust issues, issues about information he felt Hohenheim had kept from him, guilt issues (most Alphonse, but also Mother). Guilt and anger left no time for food - not that there was much money for it. Germany went through a severe depression after losing the war, humiliating concessions paired with inflation so rampant the mark was worth little more than wallpaper - which some people used it for. Those two factors of guilt and anger, added to worry about Hedreich's tuberculosis - plus his major growth spurt made him thin to the point of gauntness.

After his return to the alchemical world, everyone acted as if they'd seen a ghost. They stood and stared, except for Alphonse who promptly embraced him and wouldn't let go, all the while he murmured "Brother" over and over, the word mixed with sobs of relief. When he reluctantly returned to the machine world to destroy the array on that side - and track down that damn nuclear bomb, Edward was almost positive he'd never see Risembool again. Discovering Alphonse had disobeyed his order to forget him had annoyed Ed at first, but he was later to be glad his little brother had proven to be equally as stubborn.

Without any homunculi in the machine world to act as catalysts to open a Gate, Edward had told Al to accept they'd never find their way home. But it was Alphonse who suggested the energy from destroying that bomb could be utilized to trigger the opening of a new Gate, and his theory had been proven correct. It still had been a very close thing, the Gate had spat them out a few feet above the ground - Al had suffered minor injuries, and Ed's automail leg had been damaged. Still, he could have wept for joy once he saw the road sign: 'Central - 50 km'.

Edward knew the exact day he stopped feeling anxious, stopped being afraid he was only dreaming - it was the day, six or seven months later - when his appetite was rekindled, his metabolism revved as high as ever.

He was dozing off with these pleasant memories when the distant sound of a door bell brought him back to almost full wakefulness. A moment later, Mrs. Ravensworth soft-footed into the room.

"Sorry to bother you, Colonel, but you have a visitor."


	8. Chapter 8

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta: **ShiniLuv

"If you have two left feet, stop making a public spectacle on the dance floor" - Cretan proverb

Chapter Eight: In which the plot thickens

By the time Mrs. Ravensworth had returned with his guest, Ed had time to tuck his shirt back in, sit up, and look halfway presentable.

"Colonel Elric, I presume?""

"Colonel Bond, you presume correctly."

They shook hands while golden eyes appraised grey-green ones. Colonel Ian Bond looked as suave as Fuhrer Mustang had warned. Fully a head taller than Edward, he was athletic and slim in full evening dress. A fleeting thought _what would he be like to spar with?_ flashed through his mind. Next to Bond's beautifully pressed black pants and jacket, white shirt and scarf, but bare headed, with closely cropped black hair, Ed felt like an underdressed hick.

But he did his best to be a good host in offering Bond the liquor and cigars. "Only a small whiskey and soda for me, I'm just stopping briefly before going to dine at my club."

Edward opened the doors of the cabinet beneath the sideboard and puzzled over the selection of glasses, _different glasses for each type of drink? It doesn't make sense!_ He didn't know which one to pick.

"You don't indulge, do you?" Bond had him pegged.

"Hmm, no" The glass conundrum still puzzled him. "I used to, briefly, a few years ago, but I haven't a head for alcohol."

Bond nodded in approval, it took a strong man to admit he didn't drink, and an even stronger man to deliberately turn his back on it despite the social pressure to fit in. He paused in his ruminations long enough to point out the correct glass, and then show Edward how to make the whiskey and soda.

"You keep 'country hours', I see" Bond said while sipping his drink - Ed had put in too much soda, but Bond didn't mind, he needed to keep a clear head tonight. "Pardon?"

"You dined early" Edward had the distinct feeling he was way in over his head where local customs were concerned. "Oh that", he waved his metal hand. "Mrs. Ravensworth had dinner ready early, and I hadn't eaten all day."

He would have explained further, but Bond made a dismissive wave of his own. "It's quite all right, I know all the details. I wouldn't be a proper spymaster if I didn't." Again Edward had the uncomfortable realization he was feeling his way around in pitch darkness. "I guess the letter of introduction Ambassador Pankhurst wrote won't be necessary now."

"She did? What a sweet woman! May I see it anyway?"

Edward went to his coat and fetched the stack of six letters; back in the drawing room, he sorted out the one with Bond's name on it, and passed it over, along with a letter opener.

"Hmph, has she ever met you?"

"Very briefly, just long enough to say 'hello'".

Bond shook his head in wonderment, "She speaks in glowing terms of a man she barely knows." Ed's fingers itched to grab the letter back and read with Ambassador Pankhurst had said; he had an anxious feeling about what exactly Roy had told her. But to his dismay, Bond folded the letter and stuck inside an inner breast pocket.

He started an instant later when Bond leaned forward and tapped the remaining five letters. "What are the names on those?" Ed had to struggle to focus his eyes on the first name. "F.F. Machus." The lack of sleep - he hadn't slept - more like dozed on the ferry and in the hospital - was beginning to catch up to him.

"Poor bugger's dead."

"HUH?!" Edward was fully awake now. "Dead?!"

"He was found a week ago, hanging by the neck from a bell rope over at the church of St. Emma's. There was a suicide note nearby, but it all looks a little too neat. Personally, I suspect murder!"

Ed sucked in his breath and considered his next question. "Is he connected to you?"

"Him? No, he was an assistant to the Queen's social secretary, very minor functionary."

Now Edward recognized the Queen of New Britain was a ruler similar to the Fuhrer of Amestris; the only difference being her power was constrained by a Parliament, which had more say than the Parliament of his country. Bond interrupted his wool gathering. "What's the next name?"

Another effort to focus his eyes: "Remigius Youngbeck."

"Dead too."

Ed said nothing and waited for Bond to elaborate. "He was thrown from his horse while riding, and he had the bad luck to be impaled on the sharp point of an ornamental sculpture. He was a member of Parliament, ironically, he represented this district." Still a coincidence, but a small suspicion was growing. Edward turned to the third name.

"Dorothy Woolfe".

"Oh, her death was particularly nasty. She was knocked down by a car while crossing the street - with the light, mind you - and she was dragged along under the bumper till a truck in the opposite lane ran over her head. The unfortunate woman was a secretary to the Secretary of the Minister of Transportation."

"Edmund Ameche?" Ed was dreading the reply. "Dead as well. He was at the opening of a new metal fabricating shop, and he was having the safety features of a massive punch press demonstrated." Bond paused and sipped his drink, his throat was getting dry with all the talking.

"It worked perfectly when the shop foreman demonstrated it by putting his head underneath the punch head - it stopped like a clock - but when Mr. Ameche did so..." The mental picture made Ed wince. This was looking less and less like simple coincidence.

"Was he involved with the government too?"

"He was a manufacturing executive, under contract to supply tanks to our army."

Edward held up the final envelope: "Oliver Comstock?"

"He was found the day your arrived, someone had put him in cement overshoes and dropped the poor man into the river." Bond smiled gently at Ed's confused glance. "A batch of cement is mixed in a metal tub, and the ah - 'victim' is forced to stand in it until it hardens. Generally, the tub is then tossed off a pier, or overboard a boat deck into deep water."

He paused for another sip of his drink. "But Comstock was killed in a particularly cruel way. He was placed near the river's edge just as the tide was coming in, so he drowned by degrees."

"No one heard his cries for help?"

Bond shook his head. "He was in an isolated industrial area, plus he'd been bound and gagged. It was an awful way to die, and he wasn't found until the tide had gone back out."

Edward suddenly felt like a drink himself. After selecting a small glass from the cabinet, he poured in a very small measure of brandy. He didn't drink it right way, but just sat rolling the glass between his hands while trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. Five untimely and rather bloody deaths: three could be chalked up as tragic accidents; one murder made to look like suicide, another one particularly vicious. A question occured to him.

"What was Comstock's connection?"

"To the government, none at all actually, he was an apothecary's assistant."

Edward silently worked his jaw. Five people, four connected with the government, two in minor posts - he thought of another question. "Was Youngbeck an important member of Parliament?"

"Actually, not at all. In twenty years sitting, his only contribution was once shouting 'shut that window!' at a Parliamentary page." Curiouser and curiouser. An MP for an integral district who never did anything of consequence; a manufacturer who did do important business; and the last, a man who didn't even have nodding acquaintance with the government. And yet his death showed the most malice aforethought.

And what, if anything, did these people have to do with the events of this morning? Thinking hard, he put the glass up to his mouth and took a cautious sip.

Through the tears of the resultant coughing fit, he saw Bond get up, and felt him thump him between his shoulder blades, then taking Ed's glass before he dropped it. Like that morning, fire burned down this throat and up his nose while he coughed.

"You all right, Colonel?"

Ed coughed a few more times before straightening up, clearing his throat, and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his streaming eyes.

"Bond, there's one missing." The spymaster raised two carefully groomed eyebrows at this statment.

"You."

**Author's note: ** Hmmm, my little plot bunny has turned off the main "slice of life" trail, and started hopping down the "murder mystery" trail. O.K. bunny, I'll follow along for a while, but if this turns out to be a dead end, you're hasenpfeffer! n. a high seasoned stew of marinated rabbit meat

I am also taking a break of a few weeks from this story so my writing can get caught up. In the meantime, I'll finish posting the next two chapters of "The End Is The Beginning"; and then comes another Alphonse-centric story set between episode 51 and the Conquerors of Shambala movie. This one will be a lot cheerier! I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, nor any of the characters. (Except my OCs - Colonel Ian Bond, Mrs. Ravensworth, Pratchett Wodehouse, Prince Charles, and Miss Chievous, the Wonder Kitten); I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta: **ShiniLuv

Chapter Nine: In which some dots are connected

Dead silence for a moment, as Ian did his best impersonation of a fish (eyes staring, mouth open in an "O"), while he continued to goggle at Elric. Edward could almost hear Bond's mind clicking, clicking, clicking as it's gears spun madly and helplessly. So Bond thought he had no connection with these people?

He was one of six names on letters of introduction Ed had carried all the way from Amestris; five of them had died horrifying deaths before his arrival. Perhaps, Edward himself had been a target. And he wanted to know, had Ian been a target as well?

"Bond!" Ed leaned forward, while looking intently at him. "You mean to say you haven't had any 'accidents', nor even 'near misses' in the past few weeks? _He's like Roy, refuses to admit he has weaknesses!_

Ian drained his glass, still thinking furiously. Should he be honest with this man? Until a year ago, his country had still been at odds with Amestris. He was at least ten years older than Elric, and had been at this spy game for nearly a decade. In that time, a man could make enemies, some who nursed enough hatred to kill. The attacks on him could have absolutely nothing to do with Elric's dead contacts.

"I know what you're thinking," the younger man sing-songed, and the corners of Bond's mouth quirked up. "I joined the military at the age of 12 when I got my license as a State Alchemist; and Mustang sent me on my first mission a week later. I've seen things, horrible things, things which would drive most people insane. And I've had nightmares about them ever since. Not even the worst you've seen can scare me."

So, Bond decided to deal with this strange Amestrisan who could very well turn out to be the devil. "Make me another whiskey and soda, and I'll tell you everything."

Most of the incidents Bond had dismissed as 'coincidence' could have been that - cars careening around corners just as he crossed the street, unexpectedly loose treads on staircases, shoves on train station platforms, loitering thugs in alleyways - but then he remembered some of the deaths he had just related looked like accidents too, little more than tragic, tragic accidents.

A truly paranoid person could chalk the incident at the ferry dock that moning down as an attempt on Elric's life. If someone both knew he had prosthetic metal limbs, and about the strong bond of devotion between the brothers... On the surface, it looked very suspicious, but without corroborating evidence; suspicions were all they had. Something that serous ought better to be looked at in the light of day, when he had a clearer head.

Ed's burst of heightened awareness had been brief, he stifled a yawn, then another one. He suddenly realized he was struggling very hard to keep his head upright. Ian noticed too - it was past time for him to go and the poor fellow get some rest.

"You've had a rough day, Colonel Elric..." he began.

Edward protested he was still wide awake, but his drooping eyelids told the true tale. "Stop interrupting me!"

"First, call me Edward, 'Colonel Elric' is too formal."

"Very well, but only if you call me Ian in return."

"All right, Ian." Edward smirked as he said it, he was getting punch-drunk with weariness.

"Let's try again, Edward. You've had a rough day, and I haven't dined yet; it's better we examine these mysteries in the light of day, and with clear heads. Thank you for the drinks, but I must be off." Ian was getting up as he said this, and Edward jumped up too, but a sudden wave of dizziness caused him to sit down hard in his chair.

"Dear chap, I can see myself out, and your housekeeper is still here to lock up after, go to bed before you pass out." Edward so wanted to prove to the suave spymaster he was a big boy, but his eyelids were fluttering wildly. He was losing his battle to stay awake, so Edward just hung his head in surrender. He still played the good host by accompanying Ian to the door, respectfully inclining his head, and wishing Bond 'goodnight'. He didn't dare attempt a more formal bow, Ed feared he would wind up facedown on the floor.

Bond and Mrs. Ravensworth left together; Ian was going to walk her to the bus stop. _What a gentleman_. _Unless_.. Edward half suspected _he wants my housekeeper around to ward off any potential assassins?_ The mental picture was briefly amusing, but he was too tired to think overmuch on it. Shuffling to the sitting room, he checked to make sure the fire was well screened,and turned off lights as he went. Edward began stripping off clothes at the entrance to his bed room, he also tried to kick off his shoes before realizing he didn't have any on. A thought about his water soaked boots (_can they be salvaged?_) briefly passed - and was gone - from his weary mind.

_Oh shit! I should brush my teeth first._ He stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and squinted. Ed quickly flossed and brushed; he was about to switch the light off again when he suddenly realized he had to pee.

With a start, he came to while fumbling for the nonexistent zipper to his pants; that's right, he'd already stripped to his boxers. Plus, he'd dozed off while standing in front of the toilet. _How embarrassing. What if I fell asleep here and Mrs. Ravenworth came in the next morning to find me like this, with my manhood sticking out?_

Once finished, he closed the lid and flushed; flailed and missed at the light switch - _oh, forget it_ - it would make a handy night light in case he had to get up during the night. And so to bed. He found his pajamas laid out on his already turned-down bed. Oh, what handy people housekeepers were! He pulled them on while still on autopilot and climbed into bed - only to feel something warm and metallic with his right foot. He pulled it out to see a circular device with perforations on it's top and sides, a hinged lid, and a long wooden pole to protect fingers from the hot contents, which proved to be coals. A warming pan. He hadn't seen one of those for years. How quaint.

He reluctantly got up and placed the pan on the marble top of his dresser. Turning back to the bed, he had to pause again, to bend down and turn off the bedside lamp. The oval face of the small clock next to it on the bedside table glowed: 9:00 PM. Gratefully, Ed slid between the covers again. The bed was soft and warm, the sheets and blankets smelled fresh, like they'd been line dried. For the next few months, this bed was his. He stretched, feeling the tightness ease from the muscles of his neck and back; sighed once, and as the old saying goes 'he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.'

At the junction of Paddington Gardens with Paddington High Street, Bond waited with Mrs. Ravensworth at the bus stop. When the red 9:00 PM bus came trundling up, he not only helped her up the steps to the upper deck, he sat down next to her. They paid their fare to the bus conductor; but neither spoke until the man had gone back down the steps. They were alone up there. Bond reached into his breast pocket and took out a silver case engraved with his initials (I.A.B. - Ian Arthur Bond); he opened the case and took two cigarettes out before re-closing and replacing it. He stuck both in his mouth and lit them with a slim silver lighter, also engraved, before passing one to Mrs. Ravensworth. "Ta!" she said in pleasure, she'd been dying for a smoke all day.

As the bus roared up the high street, they sat and smoked in companionable silence, the chilly air a refreshing change from Edward's warm and stuffy lodgings. A stranger might be forgiven for wondering what the spymaster was doing sitting next to a mere housekeeper, but Mrs. Ravensworth was more than just a "daily" - she was also one of Bond's best operatives.

"Report, Hetty!"

Hetty paused briefly to collect her thoughts before she began speaking. In a somewhat bolder and brighter voice than she'd used in her housekeeping guise, she replied "He's quite a bit younger than I'd imagined, rather handsome, despite being too thin, and his hair too long. Looks like an innocent babe, but I think there is steel underneath that soft looking exterior. And I don't mean his automail prosthetics!" She looked over at Ian, the corners of his mouth were quirking up again; because he'd noticed the same things. Hetty wasn't telling him anything new.

"So, Hetty, you fancy Amestrian State Alchemists now?" Snarky bugger!

She chuckled, "Oh, yes, if I was 25 years younger, and a couple stone lighter." For a bare moment, Bond is on the verge of taking her seriously; until he sees the mischievous light in her eyes, and the playful curl of her lips. Hetty Ravensworth may have been on the wrong side of 50, but she still knew how to be a little minx. Like she'd been some 30 years ago when she trod the boards of vaudeville stages the length and breadth of New Britain, Caledonia, and Cymru.

She'd even been the toast of the Continent, and played at the best halls in Bourbon, Creta, Aurego, Roma, Alhambra - even Drachma - everywhere except Amestris. A few days before a planned tour kicked off in Central, the company she worked with had gotten word of a coup in Amestris. A mysterious man named King Bradley had toppled the government, dissolved Parliament, and even had the Prime Minister executed. Rumor was, Bradley had beheaded the man himself, before closing the borders and declaring war on all the neighboring countries.

_Dashed inconvenient_! had been Hetty's resentful thought, _couldn't the wretched man have waited just one bloody month, until our tour had finished?_ Hetty loved to travel, to see new sights, meet new people (she had been looking forward to seeing the dark-skinned, red-eyed Ishbalans), taste new foods, or hear odd accents. As a result, the cancellation of their tour of Amestris had been a bitter pill to swallow.

When Bond showed up at her door, 10 years after she'd retired, a week after her beloved Sidney had died; she at first dismissed him as little more than another star-struck schoolboy. One now all grown up and slumming in his nostalgia for Saturday night vaudeville, and Sunday afternoon pantomime. But no, he wanted more than that. He offered her a job, to take on a familiar role, the clever spy posing as a humble housekeeper. She'd played this role so often in vaudeville, she could have done it in her sleep.

_Keep your friends near, but your enemies nearer._

Just in case, Bond wanted her to keep an eye on the friends of New Britain. Hetty always came armed with excellent (if forged) references, and she did her job impeccably - her mother had been a housekeeper. So she looked after stuffy colonels - large, florid men with walrus mustaches, and monocles which kept falling out of place when they were astonished. Man who rode to hounds, or slaughtered farm-raised birds on country house weekends; who declared "What?! What?!", and "Pip! Pip!", and "Jolly good! Jolly good!". Men who endlessly reminisced about their public school days with friends known only by their nicknames - Cat's Meat, Dog's Breath, Pig's Arse, Chicken Foot, Rat Tail - pulling pranks on the headmaster, or giving 'what for' to 'fags' after 'lights out.'

Stuffy, oblivious, fat, gouty, and stupid New British colonels seemed to be her specialty. _ I'm bloody typecast!_ her internal Hetty griped when Bond phoned 'round with her latest assignment; she'd flipped open the file he'd sent over with an aggrieved 'fwap' - but her bad mood evaporated when she saw the picture. _He's much too young!_ The photo was a candid shot of Elric in casual dress, taken somewhere outdoors because the sun lit up his blond hair like a nimbus. Not knowing his picture was being secretly taken, his golden eyes were open and unguarded. _He must have been a beautiful baby._

Her next sight of him had been just a few hours before, as he peered around the corner of the shower enclosure - he'd looked like a child with his hair plastered down, his mouth and eyes round with surprise. His voice had been the only jarring note - colored with a definite Amestrisan accent - it sounded far too cynical coming from that face.

Hetty started when a hand waved in front of her face. "Any other impressions?" "Well, he must have hollow legs because he was able to put away quite a bit at dinner - and he neither smokes nor drinks. The liquor was barely touched, and the cigars not at all."

"There's quite a bit we do know about Elric" Bond took up the thread of conversation. "He has a healthy appetite, he must have one hell of a metabolism, but no head for alcohol, devoted to his little brother, tougher than he looks, prone to seasickness, hates milk, prefers his coffee with two sugars, he became a State Alchemist at the age of 12 - the youngest in the history of his country - and he's an extremely talented one at that."

"Yet - there's quite a bit we don't know. Was he really sent here to coordinate the formation of a new office of military intelligence? His brother, Alphonse is also here - is learning veterinary medicine his true reason for coming to Londonium? Five of the people Elric was supposed to meet are dead - one in a clumsily concealed murder, another was murdered in a particularly blatant manner - were the other three deaths just accidents - or murder as well? Was Elric himself targeted this morning - and why?"

Hetty finished her cigarette, dropped it on the floor of the deck and ground it out under the heel of her shoe. _I'm back in harness, and I couldn't be happier!_ The bus slid to a halt. "This is my stop." Hetty stood up and smoothed out her skirt. "I'm ready, sir, I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best and find out what I can."

Bond merely nodded, he had faith in his Hetty Ravensworth. Ever the gentleman, he carried her bags for her while she descended the stairs from the upper deck to the street, before handing them back. He held on to the stair railing as the bus pulled away, and watched her walk to her home. "Take care, Hetty."

Another two pairs of eyes - less kindly disposed - also watched Hetty, then swung back to Ian. An unimportant housekeeper, Bond was just picking her brains about that damned Amestrine, she wasn't anyone to worry about. If she got in their way, they would kill her too.

The black car had been following the bus for the past mile; once it began moving again, the auto slid smoothly after it. The two men - one in back, the other in front, next to the driver - were the killers responsible for the deaths of Edward's would-be contacts; responsible for the attempts on Ian's life; and also responsible for the incident at the ferry dock that morning.

They hadn't exactly succeeded in their last two missions - yet - but they were persistent.

Comstock had been exceptionally hard to track down; even harder to subdue and kill - but they'd ultimately succeeded - and they made an example of him by ensuring his death was drawn out and painful. They felt confident in their ability to complete their set tasks - soon, very soon, both Ian Bond, and Edward Elric would join the other five in Hell.

**Author's note:** Things are starting to get really serious as the foes of peace raise their ugly heads. They will make themselves known to Elric and Bond very soon. Next chapter: Ian loses some talking points, but wins the argument, and Edward has too much coffee, man.


	10. Chapter 10

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of it's characters (except my OC ones). I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

**Warning:** Mild movie spoilers

"Decaff is for sissies" - Cymru Roast motto

Chapter Ten: In which Ian loses some talking points - but wins the argument. And Edward has too much coffee, man.

Sunk in the deep sleep of the truly exhausted, Edward Elric slumbered like a log, a rock, a baby. A bomb going off in the street outside wouldn't have woken him; so deeply was he nestled in the velvet arms of Morpheus. If he had any dreams, they must have been pleasant ones, for no nightmares disturbed him. Precisely at 7:30 AM, Mrs. Ravensworth's key turned in the lock. She placed her bundles of shopping on the kitchen counter - despite the lure of the new-fangled stores which offered "one stop shopping", Hetty preferred to patronize the shops on Paddington High Street. The service was better, the shopkeepers friendlier (most were personal friends), and the food was fresher.

She turned on the stove and put a pan with a sheen of cooking oil in it on the element. While that warmed, she made a circuit through the apartment and picked up. In the drawing room, she collected the used glasses and closed the liquor cabinet. The dining room was clean, and already set for breakfast; but in the hall and the sitting room, she picked up discarded clothing from the floor and turned off the bathroom light. After tossing the clothes in a hamper, she looked into his bedroom - a soft snore issued from a tangled pile of blankets on the bed.

Hetty noticed the warming pan on the dresser, she picked it up and turned around to observe Edward sleeping. Laying on his stomach, with unbound hair scattered over his face, and his right arm clutching the pillow, the Colonel looked even more like a child. She hated to wake him, so Hetty walked very softly out of the room and back to the kitchen. The pan on the stove was good and hot, so she unpacked the food she'd bought for breakfast and got busy.

The smell of something delicious cooking wafted up the hall to Edward's bedroom, and under the covers of his bed. Ed had turned over, and he was sleeping on his right side, totally buried under the blankets. His nose twitched, then one cheek. He cracked one eye open, then the other when his stomach grumbled to life. Edward didn't want to get up, the bed was so comfortable, and it would be so easy to go right back to sleep for another few hours - but his hungry innards were having none of that nonsense. _Feed us! You haven't eaten for over 12 hours!_

Edward groaned inwardly and raised himself to a kneeling position; yawned and stretched, before looking at the bedside clock: 8:00 AM. _Eleven hours - I think I set a new record!_ He stretched again, then sat on the edge of the bed, yawning so widely his jaw cracked. He finally stood up and looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror. _ Is bed hair genetic?_ he wondered. His stuck out at every conceivable angle, his eyes were half plastered shut with sleep, and he could feel dried drool on his chin. Edward couldn't remember ever waking up during the night, what dreams he'd had, or even if he'd dreamed at all.

His body must have been making up for the sleep he missed on the ferry journey; he hadn't slept a wink once the ship started rocking, and nausea expanded to become his whole, miserable world. He scratched his head and yawned some more. Putting his hands behind his head, Ed stretched, arching his back as far as he could, feeling the pull of his muscles, and hearing the creak of his automail joints. Time to wake up, he had a feeling Mrs. Ravensworth would be calling him for breakfast soon. He quickly washed up at the bathroom sink - sticking his face into a sink full of icy cold water worked wonders.

A visit to the Amestrian embassy might be on today's agenda, so Ed dressed in more formal clothing: dark green (almost black) pants, a snowy white shirt, a vest which matched the pants, and his one decent pair of black shoes. He had a dark green coat which matched, and he took that out of the closet, laying it out on the bed. Once dressed, he sat at the small table in his dressing room, trying to brush his hair into some semblance of order. It was knotted from sleeping, and the dry air caused it to crackle with static; he finally gave up after dtangling most of the knots. Holding a black hair tie in his mouth, he reached back and nimbly used his fingers to divide his hair into three sections before braiding it.

After doing it for so many years, Edward found the action of braiding soothing; he'd stopped doing it only during his years trapped in the machine world on the other side of the Gate. Mostly due to the fact the substandard, jury rigged machine world version of automail didn't allow him the dexterity needed for such precise work. He could have let his father do it, but he could barely stand to be in the same room with the man. Now he was an adult, Edward regretted being so verbally combative with Hohenheim - because it never worked. Whenever a frustrated Ed blew his stack - which was most of the time - Hohenheim usually walked away from his raging teenage son. On the rare occasions he didn't, he would merely grab Edward by the hair, lean in eye-to-eye; and just by changing the tone of his voice, make it clear who was 'boss'. Sometimes, Edward could hurt his father - cut him to the quick with his angry words, but despite all the fights he picked with Hohenheim, he never, ever won - not once.

After Alphonse followed him back across the Gate, he'd occasionally let his little brother braid it - but not Noah, never Noah. (Her strange ability to steal memories - she had taken his - made him feel betrayed, and more than a little creeped out.) The exercise forced both to slow down and pay attention to what they were doing. It was useful for those days they'd despaired of ever completing their mission, when on the run from the Nazis (especially after the day Hess shot Noah in the head right in front of them); or once they'd disposed of that damn nuclear bomb, of ever finding their way home. After they succeeded in returning, Edward began braiding his ponytail soon after Winry installed a new automail arm. It was a sort of act of defiance, a rude gesture, a 'military cheer' in the face of fate.

It had been less than a year since his life had returned what passed for "normal"; it hadn't been like this since he'd been a young boy, so it was hard to believe he'd actually been getting bored with his quiet life in Risembool. The 'M' word had come up between him and Winry - oh, and the 'C' word too - that is what caused that argument during his last visit home.

In the past, Mustang would give him missions to carry out, but he and Al had been granted considerable latitude as to how they accomplished the tasks set them. This job dumped far more responsibility into his lap than he'd ever had before, and Edward had been apprehensive at first. Now he had to deal with more short sighted and small- minded government lackeys. More idiots to get in his way - the officiousness and ignorance were chafing, but now he had a mystery - no FIVE mysteries to deal with. Puzzles were something tangible, which he could sink his teeth into, and wrap his mind around - the prospect made Edward start to get excited about this new mission.

Hetty mused to herself, _What was he thinking of?_ For the past three minutes, she'd been standing in the doorway of his bedroom, watching him stare with unfocused eyes at his hairbrush. This young man had a mysterious and troubled past, but it was the key to understanding his country's motives in general - and his motives in particular. The trick would be getting Colonel Edward Elric to confide in her; fortunately, she was an expert at this. But first, she had to feed him breakfast before it got cold. Hetty cleared her throat, and Edward jumped again, but not as high as last night. _He's getting used to me._ Ed's stomach rumbled loudly, as if glad to see an old friend. "Your breakfast is ready, Colonel, please come and eat before it gets cold."

Barely 20 minutes later, a sated Edward sat back in his chair, groaning lightly. He glared down at his stomach - _I hope you are happy now!_ The stomach gurgled back with glee. It seemed to especially like the small, salted fish Mrs. Ravensworth called 'kippers'; plus the orange marmalade on slices of freshly baked, toasted bread. Not as successful was the New British version of breakfast sausages. They looked dried out, and tasted tough to one used to fat, greasy Amestrisan sausages. Even less appetizing were the baked beans - if he had to pay a visit to the Amestrisan Embassy later - it wouldn't do to 'pass wind' unexpectedly.

Edward liked the coffee best. Now what had Mrs. Ravensworth called it? Cymru Roast, that was it. It came from another country - Cymru - which used to be a colony of New Britain's. It was rich and dark, with an assertive attitude - like a caffienated slap in the face. He usually took his coffee with two sugars, but considering the caffeine buzz he was already feeling, Ed decided against topping up with a sugar rush to boot. As it stood now, just one more cup, and he would start to vibrate.

He leaned further back in his chair, blowing on, and carefully sipping the steaming brew while briefly allowing guilt to shoot through him as he watched Mrs. Ravensworth clear away the serving plates. Instead, he smiled his thanks at her and continued to let the coffee fill any air pockets, which might still be lurking in his stomach. She had just carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen when he heard a faint 'briiinnggg!' coming from the direction of the front door. Ed sat up straight and looked questioningly in it's direction as Hetty crossed the entrance hall to answer the summons.

His visitor turned out to be Bond, who was looking much the worse for wear. His left arm ws in a sling; a bandage encircled his brow; a small line of stitches, and a shiner decorated his left eye; and various bruises marred his regular features. "Ah, Elric! Coffee! Food of the gods! Any chance of a cup?"

Hetty had left the pot on the table, so Ed turned to ask her to bring another cup, but she had already set it down in front of him. Being the good host, Edward poured, and carefully slid the cup and it's saucer across the table towards Ian, offering the cream and sugar with a slight wave of his hand.

Bond forwent the sugar, but he added a generous dollop of cream and stirred it in. He didn't drink right away, but just held the hot cup in his hand, sighing with pleasure. He sniffed the fragrant fumes carefully - his nose looked like it had been broken - or at least badly bent. "Cymru Roast" _Was Bond moaning?_ "Like a knee to the groin each morning."

"I thought it felt more like a slap in the face, myself"

"My face is too sore for a slap."

Recklessly, Edward poured himself another cup, this was a story he wanted to pay the strictest attention to. "What happened to your face, Ian? Lose an argument with a brick wall?" Bond twitched an eyebrow and promptly winced.

_My, you're chatty this morning, I smell a caffeine buzz!_ "Give me that cup, Elric, you've had enough caffeine for one day!" But Ed pulled back suddenly, chuckling. He crossed his flesh leg over the automail one, flashed Ian a caffeind smile and impatiently waiting, his left foot jiggling, for Bond to tell him what had happened.

Ian gave him an owlish look, sighed, and took a proper New British sip of his coffee. "Actually, I lost a few talking points, but won the argument with two thoroughly unpleasant thugs who liked to play dirty." Ed slurped his coffee when Ian paused, before resuming a stance of intent listening. "They came at me from two different directions, each with a pair of brass knuckles." Bond paused again, and fished something of a dull yellow color from the pocket of his coat. "Here's a souvenir of the seedier side of Londonium." He slid it across the table.

Edward put down his cup - out of Ian's reach - cheeky bugger - and picked up the brass knuckles. A misnomer, as they felt too heavy to be made of brass. His golden eyes carefully scanned them - roughly rectangular in shape, straight on one side, with four undulations on the other; sized to fit over the fingers. Experimenting, Edward slipped them on to his left hand, and clenched it into a fist. He twisted and pivoted his wrist, closely looking at this unusual weapon from every angle. Bond revised his earlier opinion: he'd thought the caffeine was handling Edward, but maybe he was wrong. Elric seemed to have almost completely shaken off it's effects, so intensely was his focus.

Ed essayed a few mock punches, thinking hard. Hmmm. In a fight, with these 'brass knuckles' on his left hand, and a blade transmuted onto his automail arm, he could do an awful lot of damage to an attacker. He had a sudden and strong urge to change into his exercise clothes and spar with Ian - with the help of the caffeine bubbling through his system - he felt good for a few hours of intense exercise.

"You can keep that one, Edward. I've got lots of them."

Ed used one finger to twirl it in the air. "So you collect these?"

"Only from mindless louts who dare to attack me." Ed had no answer, so he simply grunted his appreciation and slipped the knuckles into a the left pocket of his pants. Ian blew on, and sipped his coffee, and Ed followed suit. _All his lights are on, Elric really has had too much coffee._ Bond narrowed his eyes and looked over at Hetty, who was pretending to wash up the breakfast dishes; silently willing her to come over and take the pot before Edward got even more hopped up. But she was deliberately avoiding his eyes.

Ed was back to his insouciant pose - now automail leg over flesh, the right foot in motion, like he was waiting for something. "Right!" Ian set down his now empty cup and grabbed the pot. After refilling the cup, he set the pot back down, out of Edward's reach. The younger man put on a vague look of dismay, but Ian ignored it. Holding his cup in both hands, and allowing the heat of the hot liquid to warm his fingers, Bond resumed talking.

"I didn't notice them following me until I'd turned off onto the street I live on, that's my fault. My life - and the lives of my colleagues - depend on my noticing things like this." He stopped briefly to take a bracing sip of coffee. A quick glance at Edward told Bond his right foot had stopped jiggling, he was listening quietly. "I led them down an alley I know well. It was too narrow for their car, so they came after me on foot. They were clearly professionals, but not quite good enough. The bastards came at me from two different directions, brass knuckles swinging. As you can see, they connected a few times."

Ed snorted and raised his eyebrows. "A FEW??!!"

"I'll admit it, it looked a bit dicey, I was spending more time on the ground than they were, so I played hurt. One pulled a gun, he thought he had me, the bastard. They let their guard down, and that was their fatal mistake."

"Fatal? You killed them?"

"Well, I killed one for sure, and winged the other. He left a trail of blood back to his car, and it roared off once he got inside. They were typical bullies, ran like cowards when bested. I got a good look at their faces, they're the types who like to hurt people, so I have a strong suspicion they are the ones who murdered Machus and Comstock; perhaps even the others."

He took another sip of coffee. "Queerest thing though, about the man I killed. He didn't look like the typical sort of 'muscle' one encounters. Do you remember any of the passengers on the gangplank when your brother fell into the river?"

Ed collected his thoughts for a moment. "Hmm, yes, a short, balding man, dragging an large, heavy portmanteaux. I thought it was odd, most passengers would have their heavy luggage transported to their lodgings But I noticed him for only for a moment, I was too busy looking at my brother. Just as Al came abreast of the man, he seemed to stumble to his left, and then slam hard into him."

"Short, and balding, you say?" Ed nodded. "That is the man I killed. But I'm going to need you - and Alphonse to make a firm identification."

"Hmmm, Al is still in the hospital, but he's going to be released later today. I don't know if he can help you, though; I think he noticed the man even less than I did."

Ian finished his coffee, and set the cup down with an emphatic clatter. "Well, then, until Alphonse can view the body, I'll start with you. My motor is outside, let's take a little trip to the morgue."

**Author's note:** 'Military cheer' is the alchemical world's term for 'Bronx cheer' aka 'raspberry'. Just stick your tongue out of your mouth, put your lips together and go 'phhbbtttt!'

Will Edward be able to prevent losing his breakfast at the morgue? Can Alphonse stand the sight of blood? Stay tuned!


	11. Chapter 11

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, nor any of the characters originally created by the honorable Hiromu Arakawa. But I do claim ownership of any OCs I've created in the writing of this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**Summary:** Now promoted to Colonel, Edward Elric arrives in New Britain to meet with Colonel Ian Bond, spymaster of MI7. After an unexpected dunk (along with Alphonse) into the River Thamar and a short hospital stay; Edward finally makes it to his new lodgings. He meets his housekeeper, Hetty Ravensworth (who is actually one of Bond's operatives), and discovers the rather grisly fates of the five people he was supposed to meet. Edward begins his the second day of his mission already hyper-caffeinated.

**Warning:** A bit of bad language towards the end of this chapter.

**After-beta: **ShiniLuv

Chapter Eleven: In which Edward sees dead people and gets the "heebie jeebies."

Ian's car - a Maurice Major V6 - proved to be a lot more comfortable than Prince's little Humber-mobile; and Bond was as adroit a navigator of Londonium's traffic. Which still didn't ease Edward's mind - despite wearing a seatbelt - he kept tapping his foot on an imaginary brake pedal. Still, better Bond behind the wheel than him.

Ed had learned one important fact during his first time in the machine world - he was a**terrible** driver. This had made his and Alphonse's time there very difficult, because Al was too young to get behind the wheel, and Noah refused to drive at all. Something about Romany distrust for technology, which Ed could relate to. He had two strong legs, the train system of Amestris, and alchemy - who needed technology?

Meanwhile, he was hurtling through morning rush hour traffic on the way to a morgue. If traffic got any heavier, Edward felt they stood a good chance of becoming customers of the morgue, rather than just visitors. After what seemed to be an eternity of dodging dangerous traffic, Ian pulled up before a large, colorless building made of grey Portlandian stone - the central Londonium Morgue.

After they passed through the building's pneumatic glass doors, it was like they entered another world. It reminded Ed of his least favorite place - a hospital, any hospital. The morgue smelled of disinfectant, cold, a faint coppery tang of blood, but above all, it was unnaturally _quiet_. Standing there in the reception hall, Ed could hear only the faintest of sounds: the rustle of papers at the main desk, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes, the 'gara-gara-gara' of gurney wheels, and finally, the muffled sobs of those who had just identified their loved one's corpse.

Ian had gone over to the desk, and after a few words with the receptionist, he came back with two rectangles of laminated cardboard attached to clips. After attaching one to the lapel of his coat, he handed the other one to Ed: one side was blank, the other read "VISITOR" in tall black letters. Ian touched Edward's left shoulder and motioned with his head 'this way', and Edward followed while simultaneously clipping the card to the lapel of his coat. The air grew chillier after they passed through a set of swinging wooden doors and found themselves in a long corridor painted an ugly shade of green.

Ed was totally sobered up by now, his earlier caffeine-fueled manic phase a distant memory. _Had I really asked him 'Did you lose an argument with a brick wall?'_ Such flippancy seemed so inappropriate here. The corridor was mostly blank, but it was punctuated with occasional brown painted doors, some had windows of frosted glass, but most were plain wood. A faint sound of sobbing grew louder as they approached another set of swinging doors - metal instead of wood this time. The final brown door before they got there was open, and Ed looked over as they passed by to see a woman in a glittery, short sleeved long gown sitting, doubled over, in a chair. All he could see was her fashionably marceled hair, and it shook violently as she cried. He threw an inquiring look at Ian who shook his head. "Nothing to do with us, her boyfriend was killed in a motor smash early this morning." Bond pushed through the doors, and into the morgue.

In the casualty ward of St. Pixil's Hospital, Alphonse Elric sat on the end of his bed and impatiently waited for his friends. He'd spend a peaceful night at the hospital, but now he was tired of sleeping, and Al couldn't wait to get out into the fresh air. The door poppped open and Dr. Luthor bustled in. "Ah! Mr. Elric! Ready to go home!?" He looked at the clipboard in his hand. "Hello, this is queer, it says you are - a Major?"

"All state alchemists are equivalent to the rank of Major," Al not-so-patiently explained. "The Fuhrer has given me indefinite leave to attend university here." His right food started jiggling. _Get on with it!_ Dr. Luthor kept looking at his arms. "So, only your brother has prosthetic limbs?" He seemed disappointed Al wasn't similarly maimed. _You should have seen me five years ago!_

Dr. Luthor seemed to shake himself. "Right! Let's have a little look at you, then you can go home!" So Al had to scoot back to the head of the bed and sit against the pillow, to submit to another examination. Temperature taken, pulse checked, eyes peered into, heart and lungs listened to. It seemed to take forever, until Alphonse was ready to scream _ Get away from me!_ A large, square hand paternally ruffled his hair. "You're all right, lad!" Dr. Luthor scribbled on the clip board, gave Al another brisk smile, and a nod, then off he went; probably to annoy another patient. Mrs. Deadlocke came in as he went out, looking like she was wearing the same severe grey dress she had on yesterday. Perhaps, Al surmised, she had a closet full of plain grey dresses.

She glided up to Al - _Does she even have feet?_ - and smiled at him. Al swallowed hard before throwing a nervous smile back. Yesterday, that smile had preceded a spoonful of castor oil down his throat, so he had a reason to be apprehensive. "Young man, are you planning to leave the hospital dressed like that?" Al's face turned bright red as he looked down and regarded the skimpy hospital gown he had on. "Um, a couple of my friends are coming with a change of clothes" he mumbled.

He'd asked a nurse about clothes he'd been wearing when the ambulance brought him in; and she informed him (to his shock), after anything valuable had been removed for safe keeping, his clothes had been taken to the basement incinerator and burned. "The river is so polluted, your clothes are full of bacteria, so there'd be no way to get them completely clean."

Al mourned the loss of his coat. He'd found it in a second hand clothing store in Rush Valley while visiting Winry soon after their return to this world. It was of the same cut as Brother's coat, but of a soft green color. It had fit like a glove, and been so comfortable. The moment he got his hands on some black fabric paint, he'd applied a design of the Flamel Snake - the symbol of Perfection in Alchemy to it's back. If it was possible to love a mere piece of clothing, Al had loved that coat. He'd looked so unhappy, the nurse had felt bad about telling him. Whenever he'd looked up that evening, two or three were bound to be gathered close by, gossiping, and looking over their shoulders at him.

The nurses of St. Pixil's were all of a sort - chirpy, with fresh-scrubbed faces, and clean-smelling hair, tied back into either tight braids, or Bourbon knots, not one hair out of place. The clothing helped in the perception of the nurses as a single entity. They all wore the same thing: knee length dresses of a plain blue material, topped with starched white aprons. They also wore pert white caps and squeaked about in white rubber-soled shoes; all completely spotless. The nurses reminded Al of flocks of chattering birds - except when directed by Mrs. Deadlocke to get tough on a problem patient (_like Brother_). Then they changed, morphing into a pack of wolves.

Alphonse had seen this first hand a few hours ago when a protesting man, who said he didn't want to undergo an enema (he could be heard all over the ward), was seized and dragged into an examining room, where he gave voice to an astonishing series of shrieks and yells which made Al's blood run like ice water. He hid under the bedsheets, and trembled when they came out, the patient sat and moaned in a wheelchair while the nurses chattered away like it was nothing. He couldn't exactly hear wheat they were saying, but he would have died of embarrassment if he had:

_"Oh, La! Look at that! The poor, frightened dear is hiding! What a handsome boy, I would love to pinch those cheeks of his!"_

_"Forget those! Look at his hair, it looks like warm caramel, I wonder if it feels as soft as it looks!"_

_"I don't know about you, but I could just drown in those eyes, they look like pools of milk chocolate!"_

_"And did you see his eyelashes? I never saw a boy with such long lashes!"_

Yes, it's a good thing Al couldn't hear what they said, it might have scared him even more!

So, it was with great relief on Al's part when the main door to the ward opened again to reveal Pratchett, and Prince; Pratchett carrying a small rucksack. Both smiled broadly at the sight of their friend - then just as promptly paled, the smiles fading into grimaces when they beheld the form of Mrs. Deadlocke. Their greetings frozen upon terrified lips, both cautiously tiptoed past the woman Prince had dubbed 'The Patient Crusher'. The matron smiled frostily at them before she glided silently away to bedevil some other poor soul.

"I tell you Alphonse, she's a demon! When she's near, babies turn colicky, milk curdles, sunny days turns cloudy, dogs slink away with their tails between their legs, flowers wilt, and beer goes flat!"

"Oh, c'mon Prince! There's no such thing as demons!"

Prince made a face at him. Placing his hands upon his hips, he retorted, "And next thing you'll be telling me is she fed you on lemon fizzes and Bosphurus Delight!"

"Um, no, she gave me a spoonful of castor oil, but that's all."

Pratchett shuddered. "Just be glad that's all she did to you!" And Al looked at him strangely for a moment before Pratchett shoved the rucksack in his face. "Here's your clothes, get dressed, and let's get out of here before she comes back with something worse!"

If it was possible, the authopsy room was even colder than the corridor had been. Large, and poorly lit, the cavernous room was lined on nearly every well with ranks of drawers which stretched nearly to the ceiling. The floor was wet, and Ed walked cautiously. In the middle of the room were several - each seperated by 3 or 4 feet - stone tables. There was a low, curved stone block on one end of each table; along both edges of each table were carved deep grooves - to carry away blood and other body fluids - leading to drain plugs connected to metal pipes. A coppery tang of blood was strong in this room, overlaying other, even less savory scents Ed couldn't identify. Bond's destination was one of the last tables in a row of them on their left.

This table was the only occupied one - a sheet draped shape hulked in it's center. A morgue attendant soft footed from the shadows and stood at the head of the table, and gave Ian an inquiring look. Once Edward caught up, Bond nodded to the man, who took hold of the sheet at the body's head and pulled it back. The man revealed was roughly middle age, well nourished and with a slight paunch, weak-chinned, balding, and with slightly potruding blue eyes the lids couldn't quite cover. There was a small, neat, and bloodless hole in the middle of the body's narrow chest. Ed had never seen the man before in his life. Still, he leaned forward to commit the facial details to memory, if he could thoroughly describe it to Al, it might spare his little brother a trip to the morgue. He was so intent on his task, his right hand inadvertently touched the body, and he was rudely brought back to reality when the body suddenly sat up while emitting a loud groaning sound.

Edward leaped up and back with a loud yelp of surprise, until he slammed into the table behind him. Brought up short, he stared wide-eyed at the 'corpse' which had apparently come back to life. He looked over at Bond - the spymaster hadn't reacted as violently as the alchemist had, but he still looked quite pale. Ed's heart was pounding like a trip hammer as he gasped for breath - then he looked at the morgue attendent. The man didn't seem surprised in the least by what had just occured, in fact - he was smirking! Now Bond fixed him with a sharp look too. "It actually happens quite a bit, sirs. Something to do with gasses and fluids building up in decomposing bodies," the quiet fellow explained.

Well, now the phenomenon was made clear, both Ed and Ian began to feel a bit embarrassed. _I can't subject Al to this, he'll die of fright!_ Ed put his hand over his chest, the heart inside was gradually slowing down from it's mad gallop. He closed his eyes and thought back to yesterday morning, but he could recall seeing only the back of the man's bald head, and the heavy suitcase he was struggling with. When Al went over the side of the gangplank, Ed had totally forgotten about him.

"Colonel Elric?" He felt a hand on his left shoulder and looked up to see Bond's concerned gray-green eyes upon him. "I'm sorry, Ian, but I only saw the back of him. Al might have seen - wait, Al had some of his college friends with him - they might be able to help you more."

Bond looked at his watch, "It's 9:30, think he's out of hospital by now?" Ed shrugged. "I don't know, but it's worth a shot." He inclined his head towards the morgue attendant. "Thank you for helping us." From the corner of his eye, he saw Ian toss a gold coin to the man, but Ed didn't wait to see if he caught it - he had to get out of there before another body reared up and groaned at him. He walked quickly back up the corridor, not even glancing at the crying woman; his heart rate was slowing back towards 'normal', but it was still pounding hard, and he felt like the walls of the morgue were closing in on him. Bond would have identified Ed's feeling as claustrophobia, Al's college friends would have called it the 'heebie jeebies.'

Ed was just feeling very uncomfortable and he couldn't spend another minute there. He felt like he would start bouncing off the walls soon, if he didn't begin screaming first. He - he had - he had to - he had to pee. Very badly. When he re-entered the reception area, the woman at the desk was busy with a visitor, and a line of six people were behind him. She also seemed to be taking her own sweet time helping this man. He couldn't wait for his turn to ask her where the men's room was. _This is my fault for drinking all that coffee!_ Ed pulled off his visitor badge and tossed it into a basket near the desk, then, under a full head of steam, he headed for the outer doors.

He was so impatient, he stood jigging in place, because they were taking forever to open! Before he knew it, he was out on the busy Londonium street. _Ah! This is better!_ The fresh air calmed his nerves, and he took a big, cleansing breath of it. But his full bladder still ached. Maybe he could find a nice, dark alley close by.

"Edward! Are you all right?" Bond had caught up with him.

"I - um - have to go - Bond. Soon."

Ian pointed up the road, at a spot on a long brick wall which joined up to the morgue. "See that sign? There's a public restroom."

Ed muttered "Thanks" as he quickly walked away. The sign said 'Gents' and an arrow on the sign pointed to a nearly invisible gap in the wall, which led down a few stops to a clean, and spacious restroom. _A public bathroom! _Ed smiled_. What a marvelous invention!_

Three minutes later, he was breathing a sigh of relief while washing his hands. Ed had just started to dry them on a paper towel when he heard a shoe scrape concrete behind him, and he looked back in time to catch a flash of swift movement out the corner of his right eye. His right hand reflexively shot up and the blackjack, which had been meant to put a dent in his skull, instead split open upon contact with Edward's automail fist.

He pivoted on his right foot and slammed the palm of his left hand into the would-be assailant's face, followed by a right palm heel strike to the chest. The man staggered back, but not far, he was built like a brick wall and absorbed some of the force of Edward's blows. Now there was space between them, Ed got a better look at him and realized his attacker was easily the ugliest man he'd ever seen.

Taller by a few inches, and heavier, by a couple hundred pounds than Edward, the man had a crew cut of graying hair - original color indeterminate - over a small forehead creased with heavy frown lines, and a bushy unibrow. And it just got worse from there. His eyes were so small, Ed couldn't tell what color they were. His nose was wide and lumpy, like it had been broken several times - a narrow trickle of blood ran from one nostril. A livid scar ran across this nose and under his left eye, stopping just short of a large, and oddly shaped ear.

The right cheek was a mass of scar tissue, is if it had been rubbed bloody with high-grit sand paper, and his mouth was a lipless slash, which pulled back to reveal the brown stumps of rotting teeth. He wore a nondescript brown trench coat, which covered him from high button neck to his ankles, the muddy toes of a pair of brown shoes peeped from underneath.

"Clever lad" he hissed, clearly in pain from the strike to his face, "but not clever enough!" Ed put the left sleeve of his coat over his nose, the man's breath was unbelievably foul.

"What're you gonna do, kill me with your halitosis?" The man frowned at this, and if it was possible, the action made his face even more hideous. His right hand dipped into a pocket, and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.

"Come quietly now, ya little bastard, or I'll use this on ya!"

**Author's note:** Holy cliffhanger! Looks like our hero has gotten himself into quite a pickle here!


	12. Chapter 12

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, nor any of it's wonderful characters, who are the creation of the honorable Hiromu Arakawa. I do claim ownership of any OCs I have created. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta:**ShiniLuv

**Warning:** violence, bad language, and poor dental hygiene in this chapter

**Summary:** Colonel Edward Elric has been sent to the country of New Britain, to learn about starting a new branch of military intelligence. He meets with Colonel Ian Bond, spymaster of New Britaon's MI7, and learns the grisly fate of the other five people he was supposed to contact. After Bond is attacked by two thugs, they go to the Central Londonium Morgue to view the body of the one Ian killed. After discovering decomposing bodies do odd things, Ed needs to offload all that coffee he drank earlier.

Chapter Twelve: In which Edward discovers he's already made enemies

The second the gun had cleared his pocket, Ed clapped his hands and the thug jumped back in surprise when he saw the flash of green light - as well as the long, sharp blade Ed had transmuted on his automail arm. But, he recovered quickly, thrusting the gun towards Ed's face. "Ya think your little butter knife is gon - yiiii!" He shrank back again, gawking at the remains of his gun - which Ed had sliced in half, right through the chamber.

"You need to have a talk with the person who sold you that gun, the metal is very weak." Ed chuckled, but he kept still in a defensive posture. No telling what else was in this creep's bag of tricks. Running footsteps sounded behind him. "Elric! Elric! Are you all right?!"

Edward kept his full attention on his attacker, but he sidestepped so Bond could see him. "Bond, is this one of the two men who attacked you last night?" Ed's eyes were narrowed, showing thin slits of gold. He wanted that man to come at him again; he was angry and felt like a good fight. A click told him Ian had pulled his own gun, Ed spared it a brief glance; a sleek, silver automataic, it looked puny compared to the heat Riza Hawkeye packed.

The brief lapse in concentration was all the thug needed, he tossed what was left of his gun at Ed, who parried it with his arm blade. It shot into one of the mirrors over the sinks, shattering it, and causing Ed to flinch. For such a huge man, the attacker was remarkably light on his feet as he spun around and tried to flee. Ian fired once, and the bullet found it's mark in the fleshy part of his left calf. That one fell howling in pain, and clutching the leg. "Damn you, copper!"

Ian handed the gun to Edward. "If he moves, shoot him between the eyes!" With his now free right hand, he pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open to flash some sort of official I.D. "I am Bond, of the New British Secret Service, and you are under arrest!" The man scowled and put his hands up, glared first at Ian, then at Edward.

"And who the fuck are you?!" Ed considered that a highly personal question from someone who'd just tried to kill him.

"I'm Elric, of the Armed Forces of Amestris, and I'm - well, I'm getting rather pissed off!"

A shrill whistle sounded outside, followed by shouts, then more running footsteps could be heard. "Keep your eyes on him, I'll go sort this out with the constables." Bond swung away and hurried out the entrance. The thug sat on the floor, trying to stanch his bleeding leg with his huge hands, thick and square ones, covered with ropy blue veins. Ed noticed the nails were bittten to the quick. "I told you who I am, now, who are you?"

The man grinned slyly at him, and tried to change the subject. "How did you do that, with your arm, I mean?"

Ed gave him a suspicious look, "Never you mind! What's your name? Who do you work for? Why did you attack me?"

"Sheesh, you're inquisitive!" He continued flashing that same shit-eating grin, and Edward could feel his temper beginning to flare. With a tremendous effort, he gritted his teeth and tamped it down. Ian wouldn't thank him if he shot the man. He also recognized his tactics - Ed himself had used it many a time on Alphonse - distract the questioner from what he wanted to know.

"That won't work on me, asshole. So you have a choice, either answer me, or answer to Colonel Bond's torturers." Ed didn't think for one minute the New British Secret Service used torture, he was just trying to psyche him out. It was a bad move because the bastard just laughed at him.

"Pain doesn't scare me, but I'll give you some answers, the rest though, you'll just have to guess."

Edward said nothing, he just waited. "But in return, you have to answer a few of mine, fair enough?" Where the hell was Bond? The man's offer was tempting, very tempting. Once Bond came back, the man would probably clam up; alone, Ed might learn something.

Reluctantly, he nodded. "What's your name?"

"Carpenter, Joseph Carpenter."

"Where are you from?"

"Bethlehem, Meso-America."

Edward idly chewed his lip; because of his country's long isolation, he knew very little about Meso-America. Carpenter appeared to be counting on that, because he started grinning again. Time to change the subject.

"Why did you try to kill me just now?"

Carpenter frowned slightly, and Ed wished he wouldn't do that. "My orders were to subdue and capture you, not kill. My people want you alive."

"Were you involved in the incident at the Blue Star ferry dock yesterday morning?"

Now Carpenter looked clearly confused. "WHAT incident!?"

Once he had Carpenter off balance, Ed pressed his advantage. "Did you kill Oliver Comstock?"

"Who? What? WHAT!? What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Did you kill F.F. Machus?"

Carpenter just gaped at him now; so Edward decided to continue playing 'bad cop'. "You killed him a very sloppy manner, even a child could have seen through that false suicide note you left!"

"Now, what just a damned minute here!" Carpenter had clearly gone past 'confused' to 'angry'. "I'm a Christian! When we put someone to death, it's only within the dictates of our Holy Book!"

"And your Holy Book tells you to kill people?!" Since Carpenter had already raised his voice, Edward happily joined in and yelled too. "Did you hear voices telling you to kill Machus and Comstock?! Did these voices tell you to attack me? Do voices in your head tell you who to kill!? ANSWER ME!!"

**"NO!!"** screamed Carpenter, and he tried to leap to his feet. Edward pulled the trigger of the automatic and one slug buried itself in the concrete floor, just a few inches shy of his 'family jewels'.

Edward answered Carpenter's dirty look with a curl of his lip. The young alchemist felt sick with disgust. Carpenter was just another self-righteous hypocrite, who used his religious beliefs to justify breaking his own moral code. He felt Carpenter's small eyes were boring holes in him, but Edward was trading glare for glare.

The noise of the gunshot finally brought Bond - and the Londonium police running. Ian sighed with relief to see their prisoner was still alive, if furious. Ed's own face was a dark mask of anger, from which his gold eyes glittered. "Dammit! I tried to hard to keep from being distracted - and we managed to distract each other!"

Ian put his right hand on Ed's left arm, it was trembling. "Edward, give me the gun." Ed sighed through his nose, as much as it would have please him to shoot Carpenter somewhere tender, he wasn't going to stoop to his level. He relaxed his fingers and returned Bond's gun.

As a constable cuffed Carpenter and supported him as he limped away, Ian asked, "Did you get anything before the fireworks started?"

"Yeah." Ed paused to collect his thoughts. "His name is Carpenter, Joseph Carpenter, from Bethlehem, in Meso-America."

"So, he's a Christian then."

Ed nodded. "So he claims to be, which doesn't make sense to me. I thought Meso-America was ruled by the Inca Empire."

"It largely is, but there are some small Christian enclaves scattered about, Meso-America is an amazingly huge country, lots of room for all sorts of religious sects. Most of them are quite peaceful, but there are a few rabble rousers among them who have stated they want to overthrow the ruling family and install a theocracy of one sort or another."

Ed was still angry. "Could he be one of them? He was saying something about their Holy Book dictating the manner in which they put someone to death." He supposed his feelings must have been showing clearly on his face, because Bond gave him a sympathetic nod and briefly squeezed his left shoulder.

Ed sighed. "About 7 years ago, we had a rash of killings in Amestris. Someone was targeting State Alchemists, killing them by literally causing their heads to explode from the inside out." He said it matter of factly, like he faced killers like this every day, but Ian looked slightly horrified.

"He eventually came after me - damn near got me too - but only succeeded in destroying my automail arm. Mostly because I was too stubborn to run away when I had the chance to flee; partly because I refused to leave Al at his 'mercy'."

"The short version of the story is we finally were able to put a face and a name to this bastard. He was an Ishbalan. We called him Scar - sounded better than 'State Alchemist Killer' - due to a huge scar which covered his face."

"Ishbal, wasn't that one of the countries Amestris was at war with?"

"Actually, it was more like Amestris invaded and conquered Ishbal, in a particularly cruel manner. Fuhrer Mustang was a Major then, and he says his actions still haunt him. He was promoted to Colonel,and treated like a hero for what he did; but he told me he never felt like one."

Ed gave a rueful smile. "Shit, I said I'd give you the short version, and here I am making a novella out of it.! The Ishbalans are a monotheistic society, they worship a female deity called Ishbala, and their religion forbids alchemy as being against God. Anyway, Scar claimed to be an 'instrument of divine justice', but he used alchemy to commit his murders."

"So, you were shouting at Carpenter because he reminded you of this Scar fellow?"

Ed blew another sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. "That's about the size of it. I asked him if he was responsible for the incident at the ferry dock; plus the murders of Machus and Comstock. He denied those, but told me something even stranger: his real aim was to kidnap me!"

"Eh!? What for?"

"That's just it, we started yelling before getting to his reason. And even if he had succeeded in knocking me out, there is only one way out of here. How could he have transported an unconscious person unobserved?"

"Like this, Edward." Ian walked to the far end of the restroom, which looked like an ordinary blank wall formed of slabs of grey marble. "You have to know where to press - just so - and - " Ed goggled when one of the slabs Bond has pressed in an upper corner quietly slid back, then to one side. "It's a service entrance, supplies of extra paper, soap, toweling, and hand lotion are brought this way. The cleaning crews come in this way too."

Ian stepped into the space and moved out of sight. Suddenly, he voice went silent. In a moment, he popped back through the opening. "Sergeant!" he cried, gesturing to a constable at the main entrance. "Call an ambulance! We have an injured man in here!" Edward followed him back in and found Ian bent over a man in an orange jumpsuit who was slumped against an interior wall.

Bond was gently holding the man by his jaw, and turning his head back and forth. But the cause of the man's tate was no mystery, there was a bruise on his left temple - a thin trickle of blood was coming from it. A nearby trolley, loaded with restroom supplies stood a few feet away. The space wasn't well lit, and Ed noticed the shadows in one corner would have been deep enough to conceal Carpenter.

"Colonel Bond?! The ambulance is here!" A young constable poked his head through the doorway, and paled when he saw the wounded man.

"Crikey! Will he be all right?"

"I think so, constable," Bond's face showed no emotion. "but he will need medical attention just to be on the safe side."

Then the constable asked an important question. "Where's his partner?"

"Partner?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Maintenance, and cleaning crews always in pairs! They'd never get enough done going solo!"

Bond lept to his feet. "Constable! Direct the paramedics here! Elric - you're with me!"

He ran towards the other entrance of the service tunnel, with Edward close behind. After the darkness of the tunnel, the sunlight shining off the surface of the River Speed was **dazzling**, Ed tried to shield his eyes with one hand while squinting, but his eyes still watered. If he'd never seen it, Ed would never had suspected the river, and a wide concrete walkway was there.

The walkway was defined on the river side with an ornamental wrought iron railing, punctuated at intervals by concrete steps leading down to landing stages. The boat for the maintenance crew was tied up there - now Ed's eyes had gotten used to the brightness, his vision had cleared enough for him to see a huddle figure laying prone on the fore deck, with two other men standing over him. Ian flashed his badge again, and shouted "HALT in the name of the Queen! Get on your knees and put your hands on your heads!"

The two men hesitated, then one whirled and ran to the left hand railing of the boat and leapt over it. The other man reached into a pocket of his trenchcoat and pulled out a round object. Pulling a small piece out of it, he tossed the object at them before turning to follow his partner. Ed recognized it from his years in the machine world - _a hand grenade!_

Clapping his hands, he shouted "Bond! Get down!" before kneeling, and applying them to the walkway. A six feet high wall instantly shot up between them and the grenade.

It bounced off the wall and fell back to the landing stage as Ed reached out and dragged Ian into it's shelter. A loud explosion followed while the pair huddled behind it, and they could hear a rattling sound. The wall swayed slightly from the force of the blast, but it held. Bond drew his gun and Ed clapped his hands again as they emerged to the sound of an outboard motor starting up. Then they saw a small open boat come roaring from it's hiding place on the opposite side of the larger vessel. One man sat at the stern, operating the motor, the other at the bow - both were smiling and waving.

"Bastard!" snapped Bond, he could have fired, but he probably would have missed. It looked like they were going to get away, but not if Edward had anything to say about it! Quickly dropping to his knees again, Ed touched his hands to the vertical surface of the walkway. A sheen of ice appeared and raced down to the river, then spread across it's surface with lightning speed. Ian doubted it would catch the speeding motor boat, but catch it, it did; freezing the boat in place before it had gone 100 yards. Ed smiled grimly, Carpenter's partners looked rather dismayed by what just had happened.

"Blimey!" He looked back at Ian, who was examining the other side of the wall he'd raised. There was a trench in front of it, because Edward had used the walkway itself to transmute their shelter, but that isn't what Ian was goggling at. The river side of the wall was pockmarked with holes, and whatever wasn't holed was studded with small bits of metal. "A shrapnel grenade!" Ian breathed in wonder at what they'd narrowly escaped. "Quite nasty!" He looked over at Ed, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but something else caught his eye. "Oy! Edward!"

Ed looked back towards the river - his quarry was escaping across the ice towards a landing stage on the opposite side of the River Speed. "Oh, no you don't!" he growled. He clapped his hands again and touched the wall a second time. Now a crack was racing across the ice towards the escapees. "C'mon! C'mon!" he muttered under his breath. Just before they reached safety, the crack caught them, and into the drink they went. Keeping his hands in place, Ed concentrated hard and the crack instantly re-froze, trapping the men at their waists. "Gotcha!" Edward said with satisfaction, and he sat back to wipe sweat from his forehead.

"Um, Edward?" He frowned and looked over at Ian. "You've trapped them good and proper, but this ice will play havoc with river traffic!"

Almost two hours later, Ed sat in the passenger seat of Ian's car, chin in left hand, just staring at the passing pedestrian traffic out the window. The capture of Carpenter's accomplices had turned out to be fairly easy after all the trouble they had caused. Ed and Ian came from one side, a squad of Londonium constables from the other, slip sliding across the ice. When they met by the 2 men struggling to get free, Edward clapped and applied just enough alchemic energy to melt only the ice holding them.

Not that they thanked him. Both men were shivering, yet they both glared, while one periodically hissed "Blasphemer! God will strike you dead for this, warlock!"

Ed didn't halp the man's temper by laughing at him, and replying - between chuckles - "I'm an alchemist, not a magician!"

Until the younger man snapped "Your metal hand is God's punishment for your sins!" did Edward suddenly stop chuckling, and start to lose his cool. The constables took over once they were free, putting their hands behind their backs and cuffing them.

Ed admired the sleek metal handcuffs they used, much better than the bulky and awkward wooden cuffs still being used in Amestris. Both men resembled each other enough to be brothers - perhaps father and son. Both had crew cuts like Carpenter's, their brown hair cropped so short their scalps shone through in spots. Their clothes were covered by non-descript trenchcoats of the same type worn by Carpenter. Their shoes were quite plain, Ed couldn't tell the exact color as they were water-soaked.

No one would have noticed anything extraordinary about them - regular features - the older man had a few more lines and wrinkles - brown eyes, clean shaven, no emotions. Except when they looked at Edward; when their faces contorted with anger, then it was evident they shared Carpenter's disregard for proper dental hygiene. But the ice began booming ominously just then, the alchemic energy which sustained it beginning to ebb. The constables took their prisoners one way, Ian and Edward returned to their original position.

The ice slowly melted away, leaving behind only a chill mist over the water. Ian went to the maintenance boat to check on the unconscious man, while Edward fixed the damage he'd caused to the walkway - after first collecting a few pieces of the shrapnel as evidence. The poor fellow was also concussed, but he looked as though he'd pull through. Constables escorted a couple of paramedics out to care for him. Ian and Edward passed back through the tunnel and the restroom to the street outside. The constables had already crossed back over the river via a nearby bridge, and they were waiting for Bond to have a few words with their prisoners before transporting them to the main Londonium gaol.

When questioned, they gave their names as Jonah Whale (elder), and Joseph Coat (younger); obviously fake ones. And therein lay the nub of Edward's discontent. As a foreign national from a country which was hostile to New Britain until a year or so ago, he wouldn't be allowed to question them. Which was just as well, he'd probably wind up in another shouting match with them as well. But he dearly wanted to find out why they wanted to kidnap him. Ransom? A political statement? To pressure Amestris for some kind of concession?

"Edward."

Someone poked his shoulder.

"Edward?"

Another poke.

"Earth to Edward!"

"Huh?" He looked to his right, to see Ian looking back at him. "You have an extraordinary ability to focus and shut out all outside distractions Elric, so it's a good thing you aren't driving."

"Bond, are you going somewhere with this?" Ed slowly turned his head fully to the right, and gave the spymaster his full attention.

"I can hear your mental gears turning, Elric, tell me what's on your mind."

A loud honk from behind informed Ian the light had turned green, and he put the car into gear before driving forwards again.

"Why kidnapping?" Edward began. "I've made enough people mad enough to want to beat me up, even to kill me - I've had my share of close calls - but kidnap me? I just want to know why."

"I know you are frustrated," Bond was sympathetic, but he kept his eyes on the road, "but Button is a very able interrogator, I've never seen a better cajoler than him."

"Unless he winds up blowing a gasket and yelling, like I did." Ed was pessimistic about this Button person's chances.

**Author's note #1**: It gets stranger and stranger, Ed finds not one, but three new enemies. What do they have to do with the murders of his contacts, if any?

**Author's note #2**: When typing up this chapter, I was assailed by the worry I would be accused of "Christian bashing". Nothing could be further from the truth. IMHO: 99.9/10ths of Christians are thoroughly delightful people. But then there are the small percentage of extremists (I'm not naming names, they know who they are), who make the rest look bad. That is probably why I made Carpenter and his buddies so over the top, this way, they couldn't possibly be mistaken for the average Christian.


	13. Chapter 13

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, nor any of the characters created by the honorable Hiromu Arakawa. I do own any OC's I've created in the course of writing this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

**Summary:** It's been a busy 2nd day in Londonium for Edward. He's been over caffieiated, startled by a corpse, terrified by Londonium traffic, attacked by a profanity spouting Christian, nearly perforated by a shrapnel grenade, gone ice skating, and been called names. What's next?

Chapter Thirteen (oo! spooky!): In which Joseph Carpenter makes a startling confession

Deep in the bowels of the Londonium Constabulary's main precinct house are the Inquiry Rooms where prisoners and other "people of interest" are interrogated. Chief Inspector James Button switched on the tape recorder and spoke into the microphone "Chief Inspector Button conducting interview #1 of Joseph Carpenter." He flipped open a manila folder in front of him and looked at the contents for a bit before shutting it again. Now Button turned his attention to Carpenter, who sat ramrod straight in a chair on the opposite side of the table. The only other person in the room, a very large police constable, stood at attention behind Button.

"Mr. Carpenter, are you aware of the reason you are here?"

Dead silence. Button sighed. Ah, one of those strong, silent types. He'd met them so many times before. The secret was pretend they were completely unimportant. Sooner or later, being ignored would get to them, and they'd talk. They'd spill their guts in an attempt to convince Button they _were_ important, what they had to say was the truth, the _only_ truth, and the need to get this so-called "truth" out justified their actions. Give them enough rope, and they would hang themselves on their delusions.

"Are you aware, Mr. Carpenter, of a sries of five rather mysterious deaths during the last sennight? No answer. "Two of them were obvious cases of murder - one quite brutal. The rest tragic, if suspicious accidents. Still no answer. He opened the manila folder and began setting a series of photographs on the table, facing them towards Carpenter.

"Perhaps you know these people by sight rather than name."

Csrpenter still said nothing, but now a smirk curved his lips. _He doesn't know who he is dealing with_. Button smiled, but he was careful to do it inwardly. He indicated the first photo: A long -faced man of middle years, with graying mutton-chop whiskers.

"F.F. Machus - found dead in St. Emma's, hanging from a bell rope. An apparent suicide, but it was murder, the killer made certain - mistakes." Carpenter sneered at the picture, but didn't add anything.

"Remigius Youngbeck." An aristocratic looking man with heavy lidded eyes, black hair cut short on back and sides, but left long on top, a few grey hairs. "Impaled by the sharp point of an ornamental sculpture, after his horse threw him." The information appeared to please Carpenter, as he smiled and nodded.

"Dorothy Woolf." A woman past the first blush of youth, wide eyed, with fashionably bobbed hair. "Knocked down and dragged by a car, until a lorry going the opposite direction ran over and killed her." Carpenter gave her a look of disgust.

"Edmund Ameche." A red faced man of middle years with a large shock of white hair. "His head was crushed by a malfunctioning punch press." Carpenter looked greatly amused.

"Oliver Comstock." The youngest of the lot, early thirties, with an open, honest face under intelligent eyes, and short brown hair. "He was put into 'cement overshoes', then left to drown when the Thamar hit high tide." For a moment there, Button thought Carpenter would burst with laughter.

But as he had expected, Carpenter couldn't resist the change to show off his cleverness. First, he erupted into some forced laughter. Then came the sermon: "I did not strike these sinners down, 'twas the hand of God who chose some other poor vessel as the instrument of His judgement! My brothers and myself strove mightily to reach them, to turn them from their wicked ways and onto the path of righteousness. But they would not listen, and it was God's decision to cast them into the fiery lake of Hell!"

Button massaged the bridge of his nose, as if he was exasperated; but it was another of his blinds. He was actually watching Carpenter from beneath the lashes of his nearly closed eyes. Smug little bugger, he was sitting back in his chair, with a silly smile upon his face. The self righteous may piss Elric off; and in reality, they annoy the hell out of most people, but Button found their sociopathic tendencies instructive. From their reactions, he took his cues on how to proceed with the interrogation.

"Now, Mr. Carpenter." Button continued in his calm voice (his subordinates would joke, "Button speaks NBBC, he ought to be a news reader - he drones on and on too!" Yeah, ha-ha, really funny) "Let's move on to the incident at the Blue Star ferry docks yesterday morning.

No answer. Carpenter was back to being the Great Stone Face again. "A teenage boy was knocked off a ferry gangplank and into the River Thamar, obbliging his older brother to jump in and rescue him. Both nearly drowned, but the River Patrol got there in time." Carpenter didn't reply for a moment, but his tiny eyes widened - they were blue, much to Button's surprise.

"So, you do recall this incident, were you responsible?"

"NO! I was not! But now I remember the blasphemer, the foreign alchemist asking be about it, thought I don't understand why he showed such interest."

"The boy who was knocked in was his brother, this alchemist jumped in after him."

Carpenter was briefly taken aback. He went in to rescue his brother? That didn't jibe with the picture he'd internalized of the alchemist as a selfish sinner. Carpenter's lips tightened, this was another trick of Satan's; so he dismissed Edward's altruistic motive.

"Is this younger brother a blasphemer too?" he demanded.

To his annoyance, Button shrugged. "He's a university student here, that's all I know."

Carpenter thought furiously. Things had to be found out about this younger brother - his name and age, whether he blasphemed too, perhaps he would be easier to turn from the Path of Darkness. Once he was released from the Servants of the Beast - and he was sure God would not forsake him - he would check this out _personally_.

Button waited while Carpenter schemed, not until the man in the shapeless brown suit - they'd made him give up his trench coat - returned his full attention would the Chief Inspector proceed.

"Now then, a few last things I wish to ask you. For what reason did you attempt to kidnap Colonel Elric this morning?" Carpenter stared daggers at him, was the Beast's servant so blind?

"To save his soul, of course!" Button steepled his fingers and regarded Carpenter like he was an intriguing new species of maggot.

"My, my, I had no idea you could save a person's soul simpky by bashing him on the head with a cosh!"

For the first time, Carpenter's face turned red with anger, and Button could sense the massive constable standing behind him tense. Button wasn't afraid - he was quicker, both physically and mentally - than he looked. Even if Carpenter managed to grab him, Constable Deane would sort him out.

"Mr. Carpenter, I have two burning questions: how did you know Elric was coming, and how did you know exactly where he would be?"

"One of our number infiltrated a meeting of the Society of Blasphemers, yea, they aren't content to go against God on their own, they formed a society to ensnare more innocent souls in their web of moral corruption!"

Button nodded, "I see, now what is the name of this society?"

Carpenter appeared to have a hard time controlling himself. "The Ancient and Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists!"

Hmm. Bond had mentioned the lack of an apparent link between those five - other than all of them named as contacts for Colonel Elric. A very large puzzle piece had just been slotted into place.

"And how did you find out about Elric?"

"From that stupid Woolf woman." Carpenter sneered in derision. "Our plant cultivated a friendship with that unnatural creature who bragged of her blood ties to a family of alchemists. She was all excited over a letter she'd gotten - she was brandishing it at the Society's last monthly meeting."

"Who was it from"

"The so-called Ambassador Pankhurst - another unnatural creature! I tell you, New Britain is doomed to fail if you allow authority over men! Our Holy Book gives men dominion over God's creation, for only we are made in His image! Women are just weaker vessels, put here to obey and bear children!"

Carpenter had raised his voice and was gesticulating wildly as he worked himself into full-on 'Sermon Mode." Button raised his hands, palms forward. "Please calm yourself, Mr. Carpenter!" And Carpenter finally quieted, but he looked quite put-out at having to cut his lecture short.

"What was written in the letter?""

"Woof was informed she would be contacted by this foreign alchemist named Elric"

"For what purpose?"

"When she was younger, Woolf was an expect in coding and decoding messages; she was very proud of her skill in inventing some codes of her own. No wonder she couldn't attract a husband. Godly males are repelled by women who intrude into areas which should properly be left to men!"

Button ignored the second half of that statement? "How did you know where Elric would be today?"

"We began following him when he left his lodgings this morning, in the company of the sinner Bond. When they went to the morgue, we decided to capture him there. The ones who followed him contacted us via two-way radio, so we traveled by boat to the landing stage behind the building."

Button, his chin in the palm of his right hand, smiled encouragingly. "Please do go on Mr. Carpenter."

"My brothers and I were just about to effect our entrance through the service door when we were informed they'd left the morgue, and Elric was walking towards the public restroom. We changed our plans accordingly. A maintenance crew had just tied up there, we neutralized them and I took up a position in the shadows. The power of Satan must have been strong within him because he resisted by efforts with great force. I struggled mightily, but the evil one sent reinforcements and I was defeated! May God have mercy upon me, for I have failed!"

The man's eyes glistened and he looked ready to burst into tears as he bowed his head. So Button asked his final questions. "Mr. Carpenter, if you had succeeded, what was your purpose in kidnapping Colonel Elric? Would you have held him for ransom?"

Carpenter's head shot up, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Only for the ransom of his immortal soul! We would have tried to redeem that poor blasphemer, to drive the Devil out of him!"

"And how would you have accomplished that?"

By denying sleep, food, and drink to the demons which possess him. We would replace the earthly pleasures by feeding him the good soul food of our Holy Book!"

_Read: Brain wash the poor man!_ Button's thoughts were suspicious.

"And if you had not succeeded, what then?

Carpenter slumped back in his chair as if he truly had been defeated. "Then we would have had no choice." he said slowly. "Our Holy Book says that 'thou shalt not suffer a witch, nor a warlock to live.' As alchemy is akin to witchcraft, our task would have been clear. The only way to purify his soul would have been to burn him at the stake."

**Author's note: **Holy flambe! That's a nasty fate Carpenter had his cohorts had planned for our hero. And worse yet, Carpenter now knows about Alphonse. Next week: another flashback chapter.

To clarify some (New) British slang: Sennight: three weeks Cosh: a blackjack NBBC: New British Broadcasting Corporation. News reader: like a news anchor.


	14. Chapter 14

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, which is the property of the honorable Hiromu Arakawa. I do claim ownership of all OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**My pledge to you, the reader:** Neither Edward, or Alphonse will fall in love with any of said OCs!

**Author's note:** After all the excitement of the last couple of chapters, Edward and Ian have a little down time as they visit Alphonse at his college lodgings. If they can ever find them, that is! It's more banter amongst friends, and an audience with Miss Chievous, the wonder kitten!

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

Chapter Fourteen: In which Ed and Ian get lost - really lost.

During the same time as Button's interview with Carpenter was starting, Bond's car entered the campus of Highgate University. Ancient - chartered over 700 years ago by King Hotspur - and massive - even third year students still got lost. Bond the spymaster, the suave overseer of New Britain's M17, was also lost - helplessly so. He'd followed the signs to Hotspur Hall, the lodgings where Alphonse and Pratchett lived, but he couldn't find it.

But how was he to know the signs were turned the wrong way at least once a week? He innocently asked students walking by for directions, but that turned out to be a bad move as well. All students considered the work of getting visitors thoroughly lost to be a fine art, so each one pointed the pair of adults in the wrong direction. If you were to ask a group of four students directions to a particular building, each of them would give you a different set of directions.

Edward was getting so frustrated, he was realy to get out of the car right now, then stand in the middle of campus, and just scream Alphonse's name until he showed up. Sooner of later, his little brother would get word of a crazy blond man screaming "ALPHONSE!" at the top of his lungs. After what seemed to be the thousandth circuit of what appeared to be the same quad - they all looked alike to Ian; Edward spied the welcome sight of Pratchett, Prince, and a girl he didn't recognize walking by them.

He scrabbled for the handle which rolled down the car window, but couldn't find one; then leapt back in surprise when it smoothly rolled down with a faint buzzing sound. He looked over at Ian who was smirking at him. "Power windows, Elric, one of the perks of being a spymaster." He looked back at the sidewalk, the trio were already past him. After opening his seat belt, Ed stuck his head and shoulders out of the window and bellowed "HEY! PRATCHETT!"

They turned to look curiously while Ed frantically waved both hands. Prince snickered "I bet he's lost", waved back, and made as if to walk away. "Oh, Prince!" the girl whined, hauling on his jacket, "don't be so mean!"

"Oh, all right, Lilith! But you know we are going against the unofficial student code!" Lilith, a pretty girl with long black hair, and brown eyes, who was wearing a long blue skirt, a long-sleeved purple shirt, and a short denim jacket, rewarded Prince with a dazzling smile.

Pratchett was already walking to the car, and greeting Edward. He turned slightly and said over his shoulder. "Visitor related to one's roommate don't count, Prince!"

Once he got to the car, he stuck his upper body to the shoulders in through the window, forcing Ed to shrink back against his seat. "Smashing motor, Mr. Elric, any chance of a lift?"

"Uhhhh..." Ed looked at Ian, who was smiling broadly; so he just shrugged. "I guess it's O.K."

"Utterly smashing!" Pratchett yanked the back door open and bowed to Lilith. "Ladies first." Lilith gracefully slid onto the seat and Pratchett made to follow her in, but he was blocked by Prince. Mincing on his toes and speaking in a falsetto, Prince playfully slapped Pratchett's hand. "Egad! You Cad! Remember: ladies first!" Then he scrambled in after Lilith.

Pratchett grinned, then shook his head. "You've got to stop doing that, Prince, you'll give some lads ideas!" Ed bit his lip - hard. Otherwise, he was going to burst out laughing. He looked over at Ian again; his shoulders were shaking. _Don't catch his eye! Don't do it!_ Grey/green met gold, Ian tried to suppress a chuckle, but only succeeded in turning it into snort, which finally set Edward off.

"Eh?" Prince scratched his cheek in confusion. "Am I really that funny?" Lilith kissed his right cheek. "Yes, you are, you goofball." Prince smiled, a rather sloppy grin.

Then Pratchett bussed his other cheek. "You big goofball, you!"

Prince was mock offended. "OY! I don't swing like that!"

Edward was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. _Why didn't I go to college?_ He was closer in age to the trio in the backseat than Al was - if he only could have decided what subjects he wanted to take. When the Rockbell's mailbox began filling up with thick college brochures, and catalogs of course offerings, Edward's mind had just boggled with the possibilities for study. He admired Alphonse for choosing a major - veterinary medicine - and a minor - history of alchemy in New Britain - and sticking to them. He mentally shook himself. _Get serious now - I have a job to do - once everyone stops laughing!_

It turned out Edward and Ian had been **really** lost; Hotspur Hall was on the other side of the sprawling Highgate campus. They had come to an agreement with Pratchett, Prince, and Lilith, a ride over in exchange for a promise **never** to breathe a word of the breaking of the unofficial student code. Hotspur Student Residence Hall (it's official name) was a grand old red brick Lancastrian pile, one of the oldest buildings on campus.

Six stories high, the walls were pierced with tall, narrow windows, and pockmarked with what looked like marks from cannonballs. With a crenalated roofline, it looked like a fortress. After Edward mentioned this impression to Pratchett, he got a semester's worth of history lectures on Hotspur Hall. Ed tuned him out shortly after "Well, Mr. Elric, it was a fortress, in fact, one of the major battles of the Wars of the Roses was fought in front of it, and..."

Ian leaned against his car and listened politely - or just pretended to listen politely. Prince and Lilith leaned next to him, and exchanged smirks and eye rolls. When Pratchett finally paused for breath, Ed grabbed his chance to get a word in edgewise: "How is my brother?"

Pratchett seemed dumbfounded at the sudden change in subject, being as he was still in "tour guide" mode. "Oh, um - Al? He was taking a nap when we left." With that, Pratchett took up right where he left off. "If you stand on this corner, lean to your right, and squint very hard, you can just make out the scars left by Royalist musket balls during a minor skirmish fought during the New British Civil War..."

Edward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. As a rule of thumb, he had no trouble being rude to annoying people, but he genuinely liked Pratchett. The boy was genial and good natured, but oblivious to hints he was long winded at times. Still...

The next time Pratchett paused to take in air, Ed slapped his hands on the hood of the Morris Major, making Prince and Lilith jump, and Ian frown. Ed ignored him. Time to be firm. "Pratchett, I would like to see my brother. Now." Then he leavened his sharp gaze with a smile. "Please."

They had left Al napping on the couch, but he was studying furiously by the time the group entered. He now sat at a plain table in the middle of the sitting room, said table piled high with textbooks which surrounded him like baby mountains. Ed's first sight of Alphonse was the top inch of his unruly mop of caramel-colored hair. Al was intently bent over his work, alternately flipping through the pages of a textbook, scribbling in a notepad, and occasionally muttering softly to himself before running a hand through his hair. Edward couldn't help smiling, this brought back old memories, because he used to study alchemy books the same way.

Edward walked up to the table, and propping his elbows on a stack of textbooks, he put his chin in the palm of his automail hand, cocked his head, and waited for Al to notice. But Al never noticed his brother's presence. Ed looked back at the others - Prince and Pratchett were grinning like maniacs, Lilith had sat down on a comfortable chair nearby, her legs crossed at the ankle, she was shaking her head, but smiling just as broadly. Ian stood behind and a bit to the side of the two young men, hands in pockets, and his expression unreadable. But he was mentally remarking on the on the physical, and the physiological resemblence between Edward and Alphonse. _Both have that remarkable ability to focus_!

Not until Al attempted to pull a book from the stack Ed was leaning on did he realize he wasn't alone. He looked up and gawked, his chocolate brown eyes wide, and mouth open, looking like a rumpled goldfish at Ed, who flashed him a seraphic smie.

"All work and no play makes Alphonse a dull boy."

"Huh?"

Ed's smile widened into it's familiar, toothy grin. "Al, shouldn't you be resting?"

Alphonse finally shut his mouth, and then blinked owlishly. "I've got a major test coming up next week, so I need every spare moment to study!"

"WHAT!?" Ed drew back, astonished. "The fall term began only a month ago, I thought you wouldn't have any big tests until just before winter break?!"

Al shook his head in response. "Not my feline studies professor, brother. He popped a quiz on us the first day! Good thing I'd read most of my textbooks on the trip from Central."

"You READ your textbooks?!"

Al shrugged. "I was bored. You know what a drag train rides are. I tried, but I couldn't nap like you used to; you could drop straight off and sleep for hours, then wake up in an instant. I tried a couple of times, but train seats aren't very comfortable, & I would wake up with a crick in my neck!"

"Did you read on the ferry too?" Ed was curious to know whether Alphonse also suffered from seasickness.

"I did while we were in port, but once we passed the breakwater, the rolling of the ship made me feel a bit queasy. But I was fine once I put the books away and went out on deck for fresh air." Edward made a face. Whether on deck or in his cabin, it had made no difference to him, he still retched on that ferry. So he could sleep like the dead on trains, and Al didn't get seasick. Ah well, equivalent exchange.

Suddenly, Ed felt something scratching on his left leg. He looked down to see a small grey tabby kitten busily working it's claws on his one decent pair of dress pants. Just about to flex the leg and send the little beast flying, he hesitated, that kitten looked familiar. Al followed his gaze downwards and he smiled indulgently. After capping his pen, he swooped down and grabbed it by the nape of it's neck before gently lifting it into the air, and putting his other hand under the kitten's hindquarters to support it.

"Miss Chievous!" He cooed at it, "come here you naughty little girl!" Ed threw a look back, Pratchett, Prince and Lilith were all rolling their eyes. Obviously they were all well acquainted with Al's ailurophilia. Ian gave him two raised eyebrows and a smirk - he had a maiden aunt who was cat-mad.

"Al?" Ed began, incredulous. "Did you bring that kitten all the way from Risembool?"

"Yessss!" Al had cradled the kitten against his chest, and he was smiling rapturously while Miss Chievous alternately licked and nibbled his rounded chin. "She was a good little traveler, when when I took her out of the carrier." She would curl up in my lap, or sit on the window ledge. It was like she'd done this before in another life."

Al still had that silly grin on his face, and Edward began to wonder if his little brother wasn't somehow "touched" in the head. Was there something about cats which made usually sane people lose their common sense? Very gingerly, Ed reached over and scratched Miss Chievous behind one ear. It mewed once, then leaned it's tiny head into his touch. "Nice kitty," Ed crooned, but he took the sentiment back a nanosecond later when the Missy sunk her little needle sharp fangs into his index finger. "OW!"

The little brat wouldn't let go, Ed could have just yanked his hand away, but he resisted the temptation because he knew it would upset Al. To Ed's annoyance, his little brother chuckled. "She's teething, Brother, and she likes to chew a bit." _A bit!?_ After Missy let go, Ed examined the finger. It still tingled with pain, but the skin wasn't broken. He wondered if the kitten had had it's shots yet. It was as if Alphonse could read his mind. "Yes, brother, she has."

Al held Miss Chievous over his head and grinned at her. Missy didn't grin back, but she purred so loudly she could probably be heard all over the building. _She's got him well-trained..._

"We call her 'Miss Chievous the Wonder Kitten'," Pratchett's quip was dry. "Because it's a wonder anyone but Alphonse puts up with her!"

Al spun around in his chair to retort. "You're just jealous!"

"JEALOUS!? Pratchett's response came in a squeak of mock outrage, "She peed in my shoes!"

"Because you were kept on pulling her tail when you knew it hurt her. That was her way of getting revenge."

"Oh, so she wants revenge, does she? How would she like it if I peed in her..her..." he suddenly trailed off in embarrassment when he realized he'd been drawn into an argument about a kitten. Prince stifled a laugh behind him, so Pratchett shot him a sharp look before gently cuffing the back of his head. "OI!"

Edward sensed these two were probably childhood friends and used to bantering like this. To any outsiders, their exchanges sounded like an argument, but that impression was misleading.

"Can we be serious now?" Everyone looked curiously at Bond, Al throwing Ed a questioning glance, so his brother introduced them. "Alphonse, I would like you to meet Colonel Ian Bond of MI7; Ian, this is my little brother, Major Alphonse Elric." Both Pratchett and Prince, who had been mock wrestling promptly stopped before standing up straight, first saluting Ian, and then Alphonse while both chorused "Sir! Yes, sir!"

Lilith didn't say a thing, she just used her expressive face to make her opinions known: amusement at Pratchett and Prince, impressed at Ian's rank, and surprised at Alphonse's.

It took Ian to cut through the clutter of general silliness. "Alphonse, you brother came mostly to see how you are." Al flashed Ed a warm smile at this news, "but particularlyy to ask you and your friends an important question." Caramel - colored brows rose in query. "What do you and your friends recall about a man who was on the gangplank when you fell into the river yesterday morning?"

"Sorry," Alphonse ruefully replied, "but I didn't really pay attention to him - until he hit me with that suitcase of his!"

Ian's eyes narrowed. "He hit you?"

"Oh, yes!, I can't say for sure if it was deliberate, but it definitely hit me hard, here, it left a bruise!" Al pulled up his shirt with one hand, and pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants with the other, showing Ed and Ian a definite dark mark on his left hip.

"Here, Al!" Pratchett huffed, "there's a lady present!"

Lilith laughed at his concern. "Pratchett, I have three brothers at home, and they all run about in their unmentionables, so I'm hard to shock."

"Al, listen closely," Ian fixed him with a fierce stare, "would you know this man if you saw him again?" As if to speak, Al opened his mouth, thought for a moment, then snapped it shut again before his face fell.

"Sorry, Colonel Bond, but like I said, I didn't pay him much mind until his suitcase hit me, and then I was falling over the edge of the gangplank. After that, everything was pretty much a blur." He ended with an apologetic mumble.

Ed put a consoling hand on the shoulder of his crestfallen brother. "Al, what about the people who came with you? Might they remember him?

Al looked uncertainly over at Pratchett and Prince. "You two were right behind me, did you get a better look at him?" Both young men hung their heads, stuck their hands in their pockets, and shuffled their feet.

"Sorry, mate," Pratchett began "I was looking at your brother, you'd been talking so much about him (Edward's face felt hot) the only thing I noticed was how fast he dropped his things and jumped in after you."

Ian's grey/green eyes locked on Prince. "I looked at him longer, but he kept his head down and his eyes on the ground, like he didn't want to be noticed."

"I saw the bastard's face." Lilith had spoken up. Five pairs of male eyes (and one pair feline) swung around to look curiously at her. "There were plenty of people watching the drama in the river, so I kept my eyes on him. When he thought no one was paying attention to him, he looked up, then back towards the ferry, and smiled. Ian's eyes narrowed again, and Ed's face darkened.

"And then he said 'For what you've done to my family, I hope both of you drown, Amestrine!'"

Al and his friends all wore confused looks upon their faces, but Ed plain looked shocked. He'd heard that word before, a whole world away...

**Author's note:** A first clue to the identity of the killers of Edward's contacts, and those who attacked Ian. But, will Edward enlighten Bond as to why that word so affected him?

**Author's note #2:** OK, I give; Miss Chievous COULD be considered a "Mary Sue"; but I don't think she is because Al's love of cats is canon in both anime and manga.


	15. Chapter 15

And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, only the OCs I have created in the writing of this story, which I swear neither Edward nor Alphonse will fall in love with.

**Warning:** some violence, plus non-consenual drug use

**Author's note**: Just so you don't get confused, this is a flashback chapter to the two and half years (post movie) that Edward and Alphonse spent in the machine (our) world on The Affair of the Wayward Nuclear Bomb. What occurs then has some bearing on what is happening in New Britain; plus I wanted to add a plausible explanation on HOW the brothers got back home. I've estimated our world is seven years faster than the alchemic world, but I changed it to five years. So if it's 1917 in Amestris, it's 1922 in London. Please LMK if I have erred, and I can fix it. Edward is 19 and Alphonse is 13 in this chapter.

**After-beta: **ShiniLuv

Chapter Fifteen: In which we go back long ago - and far, far away.

London, England, mid September,1922

After a long day of research in the London library, Edward often went to the Bull And Crown, a pub near to the small flat he and Alphonse rented, to unwind. Here he would relax with a glass of decent Reisling and indulge in "people watching". Near to the Wapping Docks, and neighborhoods of recent immigrants, the pub catered to an exotic mix of patrons: locals, visitors, and sailors on leave. Ever the curious type, Edward found he enjoyed experiencing the mix of skin colors, facial types, clothing styles, accents, and languages he encountered.

He was even getting used to "pub grub". The publican of the Bull and Crown served a tolerable shepherd's pie, which was tasty and filling, plus it had the added advantage of being very cheap. And this was it's main attraction to Ed, he could afford to order a whole one. Not that he ate the whole thing himself, Ed's portion was usually just a quarter of the size, as Alphonse tended to eat the rest. Now 13, his little brother was growing like a weed, and consequently, he was almost continually hungry. Usually for food, but also for knowledge in general, and knowledge about the machine world in particular. Which is why Edward had bowed to convention and enrolled Al in school.

Alphonse hadn't wanted to go to school, but the truant officer who saw him one day had insisted, and Ed had concurred. After a rough patch of perhaps a week, Al had settled into his new life and even made a few friends. But he complained every day about how _boring_ it was; Ed could have transferred him to a more challenging school, but he couldn't afford it. Research, and tuturing weren't high paying occupations, and frankly, Edward felt the lower a profile they kept, the better. They'd escaped from the Nazis by the skins of their teeth, but Edward held onto the thought in the back of his mind that the Thule Society wouldn't give up so easily. Now their father, Hohenheim of Light was dead, he and Al were their only key to Shambala. And they wanted their prisoners back quite badly.

So Ed sat in his booth at the pub, sipped his decent Reisling, and took in the sights and sounds of his corner of cosmopolitan London. Small groups of people sat nearby - either at other booths, or the tables scattered around the spacious pub. Ed let the hum of their conversations wash over him, he didn't really pay attention to what anyone said as he couldn't understand any languages other than English and German. Until one word swam out of the general hum and smacked him upside the head: "alchemy."

Ed cautiously slid one golden eye to his left: a group of four men, and one woman in a booth next to his corner sanctuary. He slid the eye back after a moment, until they said another word, one which caused him to jerk slightly in his seat: "Amestris." He looked back with the same eye, only to meet the blue orbs of the woman there. She was looking right at him, so Ed blushed and averted both of his eyes, and stared down at his table. _She must think I'm flirting with her!_

Now he could feel all of them looking at him, and he reddened even more. After only, perhaps 30 seconds, but it felt like an hour to Edward - they went back to their conversation. When they said "Shambala" soon after, he buried his face in his hands. When he heard "Hohenheim of Light", Ed grabbed his glass of Reisling and downed it in three quick gulps. As if on cue, the pub waitress brought him his food: steak and kidney pie this time, and she took his glass away for a refill. Pulling over the plate she'd brought right next to the pie, he cut a small sliver of the fragrant, steaming delight and carefully lifted it up, over, and down onto the plate.

Still too hot to eat, so he put the tines of the fork between his lips and smiled ruefully. The bit of gravy on them was delicious - and he'd just burned the tip of his tongue. The outer door opened, bringing in a burst of crisp fall air, which temporarily banished the fug of cigarettes and cigars, which hung like a blue fog in the pub. A book bag slammed onto the seat, next to his bag full of research notes, followed an instant later by a grinning Alphonse. "Brother!" he exclaimed with delight, as if he hadn't seen him for a month. He looked down at the steak and kidney pie, then up at Ed, and finally back to the pie. Al didn't need to spell it out: he was hungry.

Edward smiled paternally as he slid the plate and fork over to his starving little brother. "Thank you, brother." Al grinned again as he forked up a piece of pie, blew on it, then gobbled it down. The sliver was gone in an instant, so Ed cut him another piece - larger this time. Right on time, the waitress brought him another glass of Reisling and she smiled fondly at Alphonse. "And what would your little brother like to drink?"

"Ginger beer, please." Ed shot her an apologetic look. "And another plate and fork if you please." The pie had cooled down to Ed's liking by the time the ginger beer and extra utensils arrived, and he managed to cut another small sliver for himself before Al scarfed the lot. Al drained half the glass of ginger beer in one gulp, "Thank you brother" he said again, wiping his mouth with the right sleeve of his school uniform.

Ed chided, "Al, where's your manners?!" Al had the grace to blush and duck his head. "What does the headmaster say about the state of your clothes?" Al didn't answer at first, he was finishing off the ginger beer.

"Most boys are worse than me!"

"Than I, Al, not me." Ed felt like a fussy old aunt at times, but he didn't begrudge Al his inherent "boyness." At least for a while, Al was able to be himself, which was a normal teenage boy. It kind of made up for those four years Al had just been a soul attached to a suit of armor, and largely unable to express himself.

Ed hadn't a normal teen life either - State Alchemist at 12, then he was fighting for his life in dangerous missions for the next 3 and a half years; then dead - and resurrected at 16, before being thrust into another desperate battle at 18. Now turned 19 about 6 months ago, he had been searching for a uranium bomb while stranded - probably forever - in an alien world without alchemy. The worse part was, they'd been getting close to finding it's location when forced to suspend the search after the Thule Society came after, and briefly captured them. They had escaped and fled across Europe to relative safety in London, but he was sure that damn bomb was probably somewhere on the continent of Europe.

Other than that niggling worry, Al seemed fairly happy, so Edward had to be content with that. He was fulfilling his promise to their mother, taking care of Al and protecting him. Stil - he missed home terribly; he missed the friends he'd made; he missed Winry and Granny Pinako, heck, he even missed that bastard Mustang. Thinking of Winry brought a lump to his throat, he'd never gotten to say 'goodbye' to her, and only now did he realize he loved her...

"Brother! Are you listening?" Al looked at him, bright-eyed, but with slight 'worry furrows' appearing on his forehead. While Edward took care of Al's physical needs for food and shelter, Al, in his turn, saw it as his job to take care of Ed's needs for emotional food and psychological shelter. He tried to keep his big brother from sinking too deeply into melancholy, and Al knew the signs: the faraway look in those golden eyes, the blank expression, the lips pressed hard together. _Brother is trying to take the weight of two worlds on his shoulders._ So Edward shook off his mental funk and tried to pay attention to Al's cheerful prattling about school: his teachers, the subject he studied, his friends, the pranks they pulled...

Ed looked at his watch as Al wound down, the golden half hour was almost up, the after school ritual nearly over. When Edward was researching at the library, he got done early enough for Al to join him at the pub, 'fuel up' on whatever food Ed had ordered, then run home to change into his everyday clothes before heading out to play an impromptu game of 'footie' with his friends until it got dark. By then, Edward would be home and preparing supper, usually something simple, like eggs and chips, or chops and potatoes. After supper, Ed would read the morning paper which he didn't have time to do until evening, while Al did his homework. Al would help him wash up the supper dishes, after which he would read whatever work of fiction caught his fancy, usually those 'Boy's Own Adventure' stories.

If Edward read, it was science fiction - which he thought was funny, and stories about alternate worlds were downright hilarious. But more often he had sewing to do - darning socks, or the fraying cuffs of his shirts, but most often letting out and re-hemming Al's clothes. Both would turn in early. After breakfast the next morning, Al was off to school, while Edward went to the employment agency to troll for work. He usually ended up with a piece of research to do for someone too busy - or too lazy to do it himself; less often he got a job tutoring someone's dunderheaded offspring. Occasionally, he would get work translating documents from German to English, or vice versa. That tended to pay the best, so Ed hoped to get more translation work soon. Al was outgrowing his clothes - fast, too fast for Ed's flying sewing needle to keep up.

He could get away with re-hemming the uniform for another year, but Al badly needed new shoes, and some new shirts. Decent clothes were expensive, and Ed tried to find the best quality he could afford at the used clothing stores he haunted - better made clothes lasted longer. Edward was growing too - not as fast as Al, but fast enough, and his shoes were beginning to pinch his toes.

Al jumped to his feet and grabbed his book bag, ready to go, and Ed automatically handed him the bag he used to haul research materials around in. "Be sure you change before going out to play, I need to let down the hems on your uniform again. Do you have a clean shirt for school tomorrow?"

"Yes, mother!" Al rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Some of Al's classmates came from affluent families, and a few kids even tried poking fun at Al for his second hand clothing, and domesticated brother. Al was resiliant, and could take care of himself, but Edward keenly felt the bite of poverty. He'd never worried about money before, especially not as a young child - he had plenty of clothes, and there was always enough to eat. Once he passed the alchemy exam, he drew a generous research grant to pay for travel expenses, food, lodging, clothes and automail repair (or rebuilding). Money had been tight in Germany, but everyone had been poor back then, he and Hohenheim lived frugally and somehow, they'd gotten by.

England was doing all right, but London was expensive to live in. Between rent, utilities, license fees for the radio, food, and clothing, it was a wonder Edward was able to save any money each month. He couldn't afford health insurance, so each morning Ed fervently wished neither would get hurt, or seriously ill. If work was sparse, Ed would give up half his portion at dinner so Al would have enough to eat. As a result, for the last few days of each month, Edward was often hungry enough to eat his own left arm.

Now Al chimed "Bye, brother, see you later!" in a bright voice as he raced out the door. He would stop at the flat to dump the books (usually right by the door where Edward could trip on them) and (hopefully) change into his every day clothes before going back out. Sighing, Ed reached down into a hidden pocket in his coat and drew out a small notebook, and a stub of pencil. This served as his combination date book/household ledger/shopping list, in which he kept track of all his upcoming jobs, daily, and monthly expenses. Edward had set a strict budget for each month, and if he could keep within that budget, then they would have a bit left over for something 'fun' - usually an afternoon at the cinema.

Now he thumbed the pages to his jobs for the week. Tomorrow, he would start tutoring the youngest son of a viscount, the boy (ironically, the same age as Edward) needed to cram for his university exams. He'd failed twice before and the disgusted father wasn't going to throw money away again. So he went to the agency and chose a poor church mouse of a tutor like Edward, because they would charge only a pittance compared to a more reputable firm. Edward idly chewed his lower lip, he just hoped the wretched man paid his bill - and on time too. If the agency didn't get paid, he didn't get paid either. Rent would be coming due soon, and they would shortly need another delivery of coal. Maybe there would be enough left to buy some cheap cuts of meat, two growing boys needed protein.

Ed could use the protein too, because he was still growing. He didn't know how long his growth spurt would last. He had accepted the fact he wouldn't make 6 feet, but he'd just topped 5' 8", and the sleeves of his shirts barely reached his wrists. Every inch helped, but he was occasionally called 'shorty' yet. He, Edward Elric, who used to blow up in an eruption worthy of Krakatoa when his height was impugned now could barely summon a twinge of annoyance. Paging back to the household ledger, he added 'metal leg plate' to the 'upcoming expenses' page. Due to the growth spurt, his right leg was once again longer than his left and he was starting to limp. In the next few days, he would need to visit a blacksmith and have a new plate made, to extend the automail leg. Fortunately, he found one who would do the work without asking too many questions, plus his price would be reasonable. He could borrow a screwdriver and wrench from his landlady, and Al would help him with removing the leg, adding the plate, then re-attaching the limb. They could do it Sunday morning, when his nervous system would have all day to get over the shock.

More flipping of the pages brought him to his work history - and it was getting impressively long. Each successfully completed project raised his profile at the agency, and improved his chances of finding yet more work. Edward was thorough and diligent in whatever he did, and he kept his temper in check, no matter the provocation. As a result, he was considered 'amiable' and 'easy to work with.' It had it's unintended consequences; because he showed no interest in women, some of his female employers had attempted to flirt with the handsome young blond, but had gotten absolutely nowhere. Which strangely made him even more appealing to those who liked a challenge. The ignorant had labeled him 'queer', but those who knew him better noticed he had shown absolutely no interest in men either.

What the pub regulars saw was a young man who worked hard to provide a good home for his little brother, who occasionally bantered with them, but was mostly quiet and reserved, and never complained about his lot in life. _"A good doer, if a bit odd" _ they said, and accepted him unconditionally, eccentricities and all.

On the surface, Edward was totally indifferent to sex - and romance.

The only time he'd shown even a passing interest in 'the fair sex' had been back in Germany when he briefly 'walked out' with a pretty seamstress. But only so she would teach him how to sew. After some lessons in hemming and darning, she eventually realized Edward wanted only friendship, for he would never offer marriage. She dumped him first, which came as a relief to both of them.

So far, Ed had done very well at keeping his secrets. He closed the notebook and put it and the pencil away in the hidden pocket, then picked up the glass of Reisling and idly sipped it. The woman from the adjoining booth got up and walked slowly past him, a bit of her perfume wafting over. Ed sniffed appreciatively, it was a delicate floral scent, lightly applied. So the effect was subtle, rather than overpowering. Edward smiled to himself in approval, but the woman misinterpreted the gesture and smiled back. She was petite and very pretty, with black hair cut in a fashionable bob, and blue eyes, her dark blue dress was of simple lines, but well made.

"Excuse me?" Ed jerked his head to the left. "Do you have the time?" One of the four men in the booth next to him was addressing Edward. He was soft spoken and well dressed, his black hair was neatly combed, his eyes were also blue. A brother to that woman?

"Um." Edward looked at his watch. "It's 4.28" The stranger nodded and smiled, said "Thank you", and turned back to his companions. The distraction had been neatly done. Edward had never noticed the woman turn back to him, flip open the top of a silver ring she wore and tip a miniscule amount of white powder into the glass of Reisling. For his part, Edward felt disturbed by the exchange he'd just had with the man, and he couldn't figure out why. Picking up his glass, he absent - mindedly swirled the wine around in the glass before tipping it back and taking a mouthful. He held it for a moment in his mouth before swallowing, upon noticing the faintest of aftertastes, he didn't think much of it, and assumed _must be close to the bottom of the barrel_.

He looked at his watch again, 4.30, time to head for home. Ed usually stayed until 5 PM , but he needed to visit the shops - some dark blue thread, and a packet of buttons from the milliner's, the butcher's for marked down cuts of unsold meat, and lastly the greengrocer's, to look for almost-too-ripe fruit which could be had for free, or almost free. They closed at 5, so he had better get moving now. He tipped the glass again and drained the last swallow. Ed was about to set it back down when he noticed a faint white residue on it's inside. _Strange_. Then he shrugged mentally. _Must be dregs_.

Ed dug into his pants pocket and extracted the correct amount of coins to pay his bill, plus a few extra coppers for a tip. For some odd reason, he was feeling rather cheerful - giddy, even. He stood up quickly - and sat right back down again when a sudden wave of vertigo washed over him. _Am I drunk?_ he thought a bit muzzily. _Can't be, off only two glasses of wine_. He tried to stand up again, but more slowly this time; he still felt dizzy, but not as bad as before. Edward started to walk - cautiously - towards the outer door, maybe some of the crisp fall air would revive him. He never got there.

After only a few strides, he stumbled hard into another man. "Dreadfully sorry, pardon me, please." he gasped. The floor seemed to be moving up and down under his feet, his vision had begun to blur, and his head felt like it was stuffed with buzzing bees. Two pairs of hands roughly grabbed him by the arms just as he began to pitch forward. "It's all right lad, we'll help you get 'ome!" a voice belonging to one of the pair assured. From far away, he distantly heard the publican's voice asking in concern, "Edward? Are you all right?" Edward tried to tell him he didn't feel at all well, but his tongue seemed to have stopped working and what he intended to say came out as gibberish. _Oh great! Now I sound drunk!_

This distressed Edward greatly, and too late, he remembered the white residue in the wineglass. The thought bubble _I've been slipped a 'mickey'!_ would have crossed his brain, but he suddenly blacked out before it could register.

**Author's note: **I apologize if I sound meandering here, this chapter could probably be better. It had been worse, but I proof read it twice and did some "tweaking"; but I always worry it still doesn't flow well enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own FMA, just any OCs I've created in the writing of this story.

**Warnings: **mild violence, and use of hallucinogenic drugs.

**Summary: **After Joseph Carpenter admits his true motive for attacking Edward, and Lilith recounts what happened at the ferry dock, Edward recalls an incident which occurred while he and Alphonse were stranded in the machine (our) world. Going by the basis of 5:1 - machine:alchemic world, it's only 1917 in Amestris, but 1922 in England.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

Chapter Sixteen: In which Edward falls prey to womanly charms.

Edward came to and found himself out on the sidewalk, still held tightly in the grip of his mysterious companions. He drew in great gulps of the chill air, but it didn't make his head any clearer. His knees were trembling like there were about to buckle, and he blacked out again soon after a dark colored car purred to the curb. When Edward woke up a second time, he was being half carried, half dragged down a dim hallway, his shoes dragging on a thin carpet. The walls spun around him, so he groaned, and closed his eyes again, but this time he stayed conscious. The voice had told him it would help him get home, but he didn't recognize the hallway. It also smelled wrong, of dust and disuse, not the cabbage one of his neighbors cooked nearly every night.

They stopped abruptly, and Edward heard a rapping sound, like someone was knocking on wood. Footsteps sounded from the other side, and he heard hinges squeaking, then another voice, higher pitched than the first spoke. "You have him?" Another voice grumbled something inaudible "Oh, good work!" continued the voice. "Lay him on the bed, I have the needle ready." Edward was hauled another few feet before he was set down on a soft surface, where hands roughly tugged his coat off, followed by his shoes, and finally his white gloves. One pair of hands grabbed his feet, lifting them up and to his left, while another pair pulled and lifted his shoulders first to his right, and then back.

Edward sighed with relief at finally laying prone, the mattress was a little lumpy, but the bed was otherwise comfortable. When he opened his eyes - cautiously at first - the walls were no longer spinning around him. Someone was holding his left wrist while unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, and pushing the sleeve up past the elbow. His eyes still wouldn't focus properly and he saw a fuzzy figure whose head was bent over his arm, rubbing something cold and wet over the tender skin inside the elbow. Edward tried to speak, to ask the figure what it thought it was doing, but his tongue was still offline, and he spouted only gibberish.

"It's all right, this won't hurt a bit" soothed the voice; and something about it screamed "doctor!" to his muddled brain. Edward winced when he felt a sharp pinch, and as the figure leaned back, his vision began to clear into sharper focus. He saw a tall, thin man with a receding hairline, a large, high-bridged nose, a somewhat small chin, and blue eyes. Like the woman, like the man who'd spoken to him in the pub. As the Balding Man (the label just sprang into Ed's mind) sat further back, he saw the empty syringe in his hand, and he also saw two other people, the man and woman with the matching eyes, standing at the foot of the bed and staring at him. _What drug did you give me?_ Edward wanted to ask the question aloud, but a heavy weight had suddenly settled on his mind. His vision darkened, and the three people seemed to recede into the distance.

He looked to his right, he could sense someone was standing there, but Ed couldn't see him. More heavy weights had pulled his eyelids closed, and in the distance, he heard the Balding Man ask "What is your name?" And to his horror, Edward heard himself reply: "My - name? My - my name - is - Edward - Edward Elric." That was the last thing he clearly remembered.

the next day:

The loud noises of traffic in the street below woke Edward up. Bright sunlight pouring onto his closed eyelids told him it was daytime. _What time is it?_ Just as the thought crossed his mind, a bell tolled so loudly he literally jumped an inch off the bed. Ed recognized the tone as that of Big Ben. So he was close to the Houses of Parliament. After it's opening carillon, the bell tolled ten more times. Ten o'clock in the morning. How long had he been asleep? Edward felt lethargic, his internal rhythms were all messed up by the drug he'd been injected with. Then he remembered, and he said it aloud: "I've told them my real name!" He put his hand over his mouth in horror. His memory was hazy, but the voice of the Balding Man had asked him many questions, and he'd answered all of them. It had been an awful feeling, like his conscious mind was trapped behind an invisible wall, powerless to stop his mouth from moving, forming words, and telling all.

Ed tried to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut. He moved his flesh hand up and cautiously felt around, and his probing fingers found a crust of 'sleep' had welded the lids closed. Then he tried to swallow, but his mouth, tongue, and throat felt like they were coated with cotton. He tried to swallow again, but not only was his throat constricted, his dry mouth was unable to summon up any saliva.

_Peh._

He stopped trying and just lay still. Now that his mind was working agian, a preposterous thought had just popped up. No, it was silly, like something out of those juvenile adventure stories Al read. But it was the truth:

_I've been kidnapped._

But why? It couldn't be for ransom, he had barely any money, the employment agency wasn't rich, and it wasn't like any of the wealthy families whose sons he tutored would pay a hefty ransom for him. Getting them to pay up just so he could pay his rent was enough of a struggle. When his captors came back, maybe they could enlighten him. In the meantime, he would rest and try to regain his strength. But after a few minutes, a new urge made itself known. His bladder was full to aching, and unless he really wanted to piss his pants, he needed to find a lavatory.

Rubbing at his eyes with his left hand, he was able to flake off enough of the crust to first crack, then open them. BIG mistake! The headache which had been lurking in ambush felt like a red-hot icepick jabbed between his eyes. Great. Just great. Now he was **completely** miserable. Groaning, he closed his eyes again and waited for the pain to abate. When it finally did, he opened his eyes just a crack and quickly scanned the room before shutting them again. Two doors in the wall to his right. One led to the hall outside, and he fervently hoped the other didn't lead to a closet.

Carefully, very carefully, Ed sat up on the bed, no vertigo, that was good. He pivoted, and put his feet on the side of the bed. Still nothing. Then Ed slid forwards and placed his socked feet on the floor. He dared to open his eyes again, just long enough to note the door's location, and his route to it. Ed stood up, and moved one foot forwards - his knees promptly buckled and he fell to the floor with a crash. "OW!" Fine. He would crawl then. After a few feet, he bumped up against a door, and cracked his eyes open a third time to be sure he had the right one.

He reached up and grabbed the knob, it turned with a squeak, and he swung it open. The space inside was small, barely large enough for a toilet and a sink. Ed nearly cried with relief; hauling himself up by the door molding, he stumbled to the sink and twisted the 'cold' tap. The pipes juddered before a spurt of reddish water shot out. They shook some more, then out came a stream of cold, clear water. Ed cupped his hands under it before he scrubbed gently at his eyes. He splashed more water over his face and neck, before filling his cupped hands again. Sucking water into his mouth, he swished it around, savoring the feel of the water washing away the cottony coating that glued down his tongue.

He spat it out into the sink, then gathered some more water into his hands before drinking it thirstily, then he slurped for a few more minutes until his outraged bladder screamed _HEY! What about ME!_ Ed turned off the tap and looked for a towel. There was none, so he wiped his mouth with his right shirt sleeve, then he pulled his shirttails out, using them to dry off his face and hands. That done, he lifted the toilet lid and looked in; there was water in the bowl, but the wooden seat was old and cracked, probably full of splinters. Fortunately, Ed didn't need it in that way. A few minutes of blissful relief later, he closed the lid and pulled the chain. There wasn't any soap either, so he sluiced his hands in the sink, and re-dried them on his shirt. He tucked it back into his pants before zipping them up, but he didn't re-button his waistcoat. Edward sat down on the toilet lid, elbows resting on his legs, and gripped his bangs in his hands. He had to think. Now that he'd washed up, he felt better, and even the headache was just a dull throb between his eyes. So Edward began entertaining thoughts of escape.

Ed first investigated the lavatory. No way out there, so he came back out into the room and went over to the window. Counting the ground floor, he was five stories up, but there wasn't a handy ledge underneath the window, nor even a downspout he could climb down. And he was too high up to jump. What if he opened the window and yelled "FIRE!"? Edward grabbed the sash and grunted with the effort, but it was no go, the window was painted shut. He then tried hammering on the glass with his metal fist, but it just bounced back harmlessly. _Tough glass!_

Next, he explored all the walls of the room - nothing. He knocked on the walls hopefully, but they all sounded solid. No secret passageways. Ed lifted all the rugs on the floor and looked underneath, but no trapdoors. Lastly, he tried the door leading out into the hall. Locked. It opened inwards, so ramming it with his shoulder was out of the question. So he tried tugging hard, hoping the knob would come off. No luck. Finally defeated, Ed sprawled on the bed and laced his fingers behind his head. _Hmph. _ They'd even taken off his hair tie, it lay on a rickety bedside table next to his gloves, a couple blond strands caught in it. He put his brain to thinking of other scenarios.

If he was quick, he could possibly push them out the way when the door opened, and run for it. The woman, and The Balding Man could be overpowered, but the other two men, the one who'd distracted him in the pub, and the man he had sensed, but never saw were unknown qualities. After another hour of so of running possible scenarios in his head, Edward began to doze off, and he eventually began to dream - of home,of Risembool, of a certain blonde mechanic he was quite fond of.

He was lying on a wool blanket, Edward could feel the itchy fibers on his arms, on a green hill overlooking the Rain River. Idly riffling the grass with his right, flesh hand now he was sure he was dreaming, Edward watched the river lazily meandering it's way past him. After a while of this, he felt someone kneeling on the blanket behind him, then a soft hand touched his shoulder, and a familiar voiced breathed his name. "Winry." he murmured quietly. When Ed rolled over to his left, she was there, smiling down at him. He said her name again, "Winry." It was the most beautiful name in the world, sounding almost musical when he said it aloud. Edward reached for Winry and took her into his arms, he was about to kiss her when she took the initiative and kissed him first.

She moaned when he kissed back, a sweet "mmm" sound, so Ed answered her with an orgasmic growl from deep in his own throat. Spurred on by his response, Winry reached up buried her fingers in his hair, messing up his braid, not that Edward minded. Now he could feel her tongue against his teeth, shyly requesting entry. _Why not?_ he thought and opened up, before reciprocating the gesture with his tongue. She tightened her grip on his hair and deepened the kiss, and Edward responded by sinking his fingers into her hair. He loved Winry's hair - it was long and silky - he ran his fingers down through it, and it was - short?

Ed woke up and realized he was still kissing - someone. He opened his eyes and found himself nose to nose with the woman he'd seen in the pub, who had stood at the foot of the bed while he was being drugged against his will. Edward was kissing one of his kidnappers. _Ugh!_ He blushed, withdrew his tongue, and stopped kissing her back, then put his hands on her shoulders, preparing to push her away. She broke the kiss with a loud 'smack', opened her eyes, and looked at him with something like confusion in those blue orbs.

"Please!" she whined. "Please kiss me!" Ed shook his head and pushed her away roughly, before scooting back on the bed. He wiped his mouth on the right sleeve of his shirt and looked at her with disgust tinged with horror at what he'd done.

"Please!" she held out her hands to him, pleading. "Please love me! I'm so lonely, I miss my sweetheart, and you look like him, please!"

This made Edward narrow his gold eyes and look at her suspiciously. _This is getting really - creepy._ "I - look like - him?"

"Yes!" she cried, scrabbling at the neck of her dress, green today. Edward backed up a little more, was she going to start taking her clothes off? Instead, she pulled up a silver locket on a chain, opened it, and showed him the pictures inside. One picture was of her, the other of a man who looked eerily familiar. His hair was cropped very short, but he could see enough to see it - and a goatee - were caramel-colored. Gold eyes stared back in a familiar challenge, Ed had seen that same look whenever he looked in a mirror. The man's face was very thin, with high cheekbones, but otherwise, it was like looking at his father, Hohenheim. Another half-brother. _Damn you old man, where else did you spread your seed?_

Now the woman was crying, great round tears spilling from her eyes. "We'd only been married a few months, I thought he was the most brilliant alchemist in Drachma, and he- he wanted to open a portal to the world beyond the Gate. He wanted to reach the alchemists here, to share knowledge and wisdom with them." Ed held up one hand to stop her.

"Wait, did you say DRACHMA??!"

"Yes, Drachma! He was a State Alchemist, charged with finding a way to invade Amestris, so he did this work in secret. But the goverment found out - they always find out; I was terrified the triumvirate would order his execution..." She paused for breath, and gulped back tears.

"Instead, they told him to send a team to this world, to find a unique weapon which would help Drachma destroy Amestris. To ensure his cooperation, they made him send me, his bride. I was joined by my brother, and my uncle. To mind us, the triumvirate added one of their 'enforcers'."

Ed could only stare at her in wonder. "Are you aware I'm an Amestrian?" She answered with a dumbfounded stare of her own. "No, no! I didn't know that until the truth serum forced it out of you, but - I don't care if you are the enemy. All I know is, when I saw you yesterday, I saw my sweetheart, my Rudolfus. You are also a son of Hohenheim, even if your hair is a different color, you have his eyes, and your face is the same shape."

She continued with her story. "The dimensional transfer worked, and Rudolfus successfully opened a transdimensional gate and sent us through." The woman hung her head, tears dripping onto the bed cover. "Then everything went wrong. We couldn't find any alchemists here, nor the unique weapon the trimvirate assured us was here. They lied to us. We know some alchemy, but it doesn't seem to work here. Without a way home, we are trapped." She put her hands over her face and the tears came faster, her shoulders shaking hard in time with her sobs.

_I'm too softhearted, that's my problem_. Now Edward felt guilty for pushing her away. "I'm sorry, but you deserve to know the truth - there is no way back. My brother and I were stranded here too. There used to be a physical portal back, but we destroyed it."

She gaped at Edward for a moment before lunging forward and pounding her small fists on his chest while crying. "Why? Why would you do such a thing? Stupid Amestrian!" She shot him a look of pure hatred after Ed grabbed her by the wrists.

"Call me what you want, but it was to protect our world from this one. A group called the Thule Society invaded Central a year ago, and they caused much death and destruction. I destroyed the portal because slamming the door was the only way to keep the alchemic world safe. Now we are here to track down a nuclear bomb made in our world and sent here. Once we find it, we will destroy it to protect this world also."

Tears will still rolling down her cheeks, but at least she'd stopped trying to hit him. "And once you do this, you will go back to your world?"

"No." Ed sighed with exasperation at this woman. "Alchemy never advanced beyond a primitive level here, so without a way to open a portal, we will never find our way home. My brother and I are just as trapped as - "

Just then, a key scraped in the door's lock. The woman leaped up and stood at the foot of the bed, her head bowed, and her hands folded - a submissive posture. The door began to open and Edward braced himself. Here was his chance! Now it swung wider to reveal two men - the brother, and The Balding Man. "Tola!, whatever -?"

Her brother didn't get the chance to finish as Edward launched himself off the bed, and barreled into him, knocking him back and to his left, straight into the uncle. Pivoting on his right heel, Ed made a sharp right turn and hurtled down the hall at top speed, his socked feet pounding on the thin carpet. Up ahead was a T-shaped intersection, with an elevator just beyond. Calling the elevator would take too long, his captors would have time to recover from their surprise. Right, or left? To his left was the 'enforcer', a veritable wall of a man with iron grey hair and a broad, impassive face, and dead black eyes. That must have been the man Edward had sensed standing by the bed.

The man grinned, opened his arms, and reached for Ed. Right it was. Edward took off like a shot down the longer hallway. At it's far end, he could see a lighted sign announcing 'stairs', and he made straight for it. Thudding footsteps behind told him two people were in hot pursuit. Ed hit the door at a dead run, and shoved it open before plunging down the steps, taking two at a time. He still wasn't fast enough, Tola's brother caught up at the second landing, and there occurred a short, but fierce fight.

He swung a fist at Ed, but he ducked the blow before coming up with a palm heel strike to the other man's jaw which sent him reeling backwards. Ed spun around and continued his mad flight down two more landings where the other man grabbed his hair. Ed elbowed the brother - hard, in the ribs; the dark haired man let go, cursing, then he swung again. But Ed wasn't there. He'd gone down on one knee, sweeping the other leg in a circle to send his erstwhile kidnapper sprawling. The larger man had caught up by then, and he reached for Edward again, but tripped over his companion and went down with a loud thud.

Edward wasn't going to wait around for them to get up; and whirling, he raced down the last flight of steps. He didn't pay attention to the deep shadows behind the staircase, he only saw the lighted sign which read "Ground floor." With escape the only thing on his mind, he reached out to pull the door open. He was halfway out when a hand grabbed hold of his hair, and slammed his forehead very hard into the metal door jamb. Edward's world exploded in a shower of sparks and pain before he lost consciousness.

**Author's note:** Out of the frying pan, and into - another frying pan. Tola has answered a lot of Edward's questions about who his kidnappers are, but not exactly why they dosed him with 'truth serum'. It all seems to be wrapped up with his father, and the chilly relationship between Amestris and Drachma.


	17. Chapter 17

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, which is the property of the wickedly talented Hiromu Arakawa, to whom this dishonorable amateur bows in respect. I only own the OCs who I have invented for the purposes of this story.

**Author's note:** Just so you know, this is a flashback episode, which will go a bit towards explaining events in the alchemic world. Only 1917 in the alchemic world, but 1922 in the machine (our) world

**Summary:** Edward flashes back to the roughly two and a half years he and Alphonse spent wandering in Europe in their search for the Wayward Nuclear Bomb. In particular, his and Alphonse's tenuous existence in London as they struggled to get by while hiding (from the Thule Society) under assumed names. Edward has been kidnapped by a mysterious gang who take him to an unknown location and dose him with 'truth serum'. After a disturbing episode with one of his captors, Edward makes a bold bid for freedom, but it doesn't work out the way he planned.

**After-beta:** ShiniLuv

Chapter Seventeen: In which Edward makes another break.

Edward came to just as he was dragged back through the same stairwell door he'd bolted through a few minutes ago. The Balding Man was waiting for them at the junction of the two corridors.

"Ah, you've caught him, good work!" he nodded in approval as he said it, and a strong desire to punch him surged in Edward's chest. He held a large black zippered case in one hand, and Edward could guess what it contained.

Digging in his heels, he began struggling, pulling back, twisting left and right, trying to wrench his arms free. But his captors had him in too strong of a grip - one was the 'enforcer', the other a brown-haired man he didn't recognize. Brown hair, brown eyes, sallow-face, totally unremarkable, nine out of ten people wouldn't have noticed him in a crowd, but Ed suddenly remembered. FOUR men sat at that booth in the pub; this man must have been waiting in the shadows of the stairwell - in ambush.

Ed continued to struggle, even if his efforts were in vain, he had to keep trying. But far too soon, they were back in his prison, where he was roughly thrown on to the bed. Edward bolted right back up, but the 'enforcer' grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him back into a prone position. Then he reinforced his hold by ramming his right knee right onto Ed's midsection, knocking all the wind out of the teen with a loud "Oof!"

Struggling for breath, Edward could only take in shallow gasps for air. He heard the sound of a zipper being pulled open and looked over to see The Balding Man open the black case and lay it on the bed near to his left side, while the brown-haired man pulled Edward's sleeve up past the elbow. The Balding Man extracted a small bottle of clear liquid, and a square of cotton from the case, the latter of which he handed to the now christened Brown Haired Man, after first soaking it with the contents of the bottle.

"No!" Ed protested loudly, he'd gotten his second wind and he began twisting his arm back and forth, trying to pull it out of their grip. The liquid was alcohol, which the Brown Haired Man was swabbing on the tender skin inside Ed's elbow.

"Hold his arm still, Cavanaugh," muttered the Balding Man while he fitted the needle of a syringe through the rubber neck of another, slightly larger bottle. It squeaked as it went in, and Edward stared, feeling like a bird hypnotized by a poisonous snake, he couldn't seem to look away as what seemed to be an extraordinarily large dose of the drug was drawn into the syringe.

"Isn't that a bit much?" asked Cavanaugh, who was still swabbing Ed's arm.

"Hmmm? No, it's actually a cc less than yesterday. Now there is nothing in his system to interact, the smaller dose will actually be more effective." The Balding Man withdrew the needle with another squeak, and set the bottle down before pushing the plunger, making a small amount spurt out of the needle's end. "Now, Conner, Cavanaugh - both of you, hold him still!" He took a crushing grip on Ed's wrist, and Cavanaugh dug his fingers into Ed's upper arm, while Conner bore down on his shoulders.

Something cold and sharp was set against the vein in the crook of his elbow, before it slid into the tender skin.

**"NO! DAMMIT! NO!!"** Edward kicked out hard, trying to hit The Balding Man, jog his arm, maybe make him drop the syringe, but it was no good.

"Stop that!" he barked at Edward "struggling will only cause you unnecessary pain."

Now he pushed the plunger to administer the drug, and Ed yelled "No!" again, he winced and clenched his teeth, and continued to thrash and kick against his restraints.

"There, now " soothed The Balding Man, but Edward didn't feel particularly soothed. "It's all over, very soon you will start to feel a bit sleepy." To Conner and Cavanaugh he ordered "Let him go." Edward could almost feel the drug racing through his system, warring with the adrenaline which also was also surging through his veins.

He gripped the bed sheet tightly, his entire body on alert. "Why are you doing this to me?" he ground out.

"First of all, there is your resemblance to Rudolfus, which we considered quite startling; secondly there was your reaction to our code words at the pub. One too many coincidences made us suspicious, which is why we decided to subdue you."

No longer held down, Ed levered himself up on his elbows and he gave the Balding Man the most venomous glare he could muster. "Subdue?! Is that what drugging someone against their will is called nowadays?!"

"And lastly," calmly continued The Balding Man, as if he'd never been interrupted, "under the effects of the truth serum, you told us you aren't who your identity card claimed you were, and in a few minutes, you will tell us more." The now familar weight settled on Ed's mind and he dropped his shoulders back onto the bed, gritting his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn't break. "Don't try to fight the serum, it is quite impossible, resistance is futile. Today, you will tell us what we need to know." The calm voice was maddening, but Edward's teeth and hands unclenched as his vision again darkened, and his captors receded into that darkness.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Edward's eyes slid closed and his breathing steadied. A voice reached his ears as if from far away, and it was asking him a question: "What is your name?"

The Balding Man finished questioning the drugged blonde two hours later. "The effects are wearing off, but I think we've learned all we can from him." Conner looked dubious, but then he always looked that way. "Should we shackle the Amestrine he used the archaic Drachman term for their long-term enemy to the bed?"

"That won't be necessary Conner, he will sleep deeply until morning. In the meantime," he slipped two items from his pocket: Edward's identity card, and a small key. "This card says he lives at Number 12 Court Street, flat number 8; and here is the key." He handed it to Conner. "Cavanaugh, go with him and collect Elric's brother."

Morning sunlight, and the tolling of Big Ben woke Edward. He counted the rings - seven o'clock a.m. Then he swallowed experimentally - no cotton-like coating in his mouth, now Ed's eyelids fluttered open - no crust gluing the lids shut, no headache. Those must have been aftereffects of the 'mickey' Brianne had slipped into his wine. It had happened less than 24 hours ago, but it felt like a lifetime to Ed. He cautiously sat up in the bed, and he felt a little dizzy, but not enough to make him lie down again.

Ed rubbed at his eyes before dropping his hands back into his lap - and he suddenly winced. There was a dark mark on his left wrist, so Ed pulled back the undone cuff of his shirt, and he was horrified to find a large bruise there. Roughly the size of The Balding Man's hand. Edward pivoted the hand to see the bruises on the inner side of his wrist were perfectly finger shaped. He pulled the sleeve up past his elbow - there were two tiny, round needle tracks set next to each other in the crook of the elbow, and four small bruises just above that spot.

Ed's shoulders also felt a little sore, and if he were to look in the lavatory mirror, he was certain there would be a bruise on each shoulder from the force of Conner's hands pushing him down. Just thinking of yesterday, and the fear and desperation he'd felt made his stomach clench; he would vomit if there was anything in his stomach to throw up.

_I have to get out of here!_

After sliding off the bed, Edward investigated his prison all over again: but the door remained stubbornly locked, the walls and floors stubbornly solid. He went to the window again, his only escape lay this way. Morning rush hour was still going on, and if he could somehow smash the glass and call for help, _someone_ would hear him and summon the police.

But if the police got involved, there would go his and Al's carefully built facade. Like police in his world, the Greater London Police were naturally suspicious, Edward would have to come up with a highly plausible story to fool them. And if they managed to catch one of his kidnappers, and that person talked, and the press got involved: the Thule Society would be certain to get wind of it. If the authorities got involved, it would be a cascading series of diastrous events. He was dammed if he did, and damned if he didn't.

He tapped on the glass, testing it's strength. He would have to use a lot of force to break it. His metal arm would do the job nicely, but would it make enough noise for the people in the street below to hear? He needed to make a bigger racket, so Ed's eyes scanned the room. The bed was far too big, there were no chairs, now he remembered The Balding Man had sat on the edge of the bed to do his dirty work. The bedside table it had to be. Ed walked over and reached out a hand, and pushed on it. It was old and wiggly, but it would have to do.

If glass fell back into the room, he would need to protect his feet. Where were his shoes? After Ed kneeled down and searched, he found them set just underneath the bed. His coat was folded on top of the table, after putting on and tying the shoes, Ed donned his coat, it would also protect him from flying glass. He found his gloves balled up and stuffed into the pockets, and he put them on too. Finally, he grabbed up the hair tie and stuck it between his teeth before he reached back and roughly scraped his now dirty hair into a ponytail, and secured it.

Edward hefted the table, it was heavier than he expected, which was good._ Must be made of oak, and just gone rickety with age_.

After carrying the table closer to the window, Ed briefly set it down and closed his eyes. He took a few deep, cleansing breaths, and composed his jittery nerves. Then he picked up the table again, set his feet, and pushed off, hard from the floor, his plan was to hit the window at a dead run...

Edward had taken maybe three steps, three and a half when he was roughly grabbed from behind, one hand seizing hold of his hair, the other grabbing the neck of his coat. The hands yanked back - hard.

Both Edward and the table fell to the floor with a crash, the wind knocked out of the blonde, and his vision blurred by the shock. The hands let go of his hair and his coat before grabbing his arms and yanking them painfully behind his back. Ed's vision cleared and he saw Cavanaugh smiling at him. "You've been a bad boy, Eddie," he said as he took a firm hold of Ed's hair with his left hand, and with his right hand, put a damp rag over the teen's nose and mouth.

The rag had come down just as Edward took a breath - the smell was sweet, and he instantly felt a little muzzy. _Chloroform_. Edward began to struggle, but it was too late, after only a couple of breaths, his eyes fluttered closed...

"OI! What the bloody 'ell do you think you're doing?"

The grips of both Conner and Cavanaugh loosened, and the chloroformed rag fell away, enabling Edward to take a deep breath. His vision and mind quickly cleared. Ed saw a small man in rough workman's clothing standing in the doorway. He looked quite cross. He also looked small enough for Conner to snap in two. The same thought must have crossed Conner's mind, for the large man abruptly let go of Edward's arms, then stood up before walking slowly towards the stranger. The workman's facial expression changed from anger to concern, then apprehension, and finally, downright fear.

"Stay back you! I'm warning ya, I'll shout for the police if you take one more step!"

Edward filled his lungs and screamed, "He'll kill you before then, shut up and run, you fool! **RUN!**" The workman took a few stumbling steps backwards, before tripping over the hall carpet and falling down. Ed had to do _something_, and fast. Cavanaugh's attention was on the drama going on in the hallway, and he was grinning evilly as the workman screamed in terror,

"Mother of Gawd, somebody 'elp me!"

Edward would have to be that _somebody_. After scooting backwards a few feet, he solidly planted his hands and his right foot before lashing out and kicking Cavanaugh, as hard as he could, in the face. The brown haired man grunted in surprise at the sharp _crack_ of a shoe clad metal foot meeting bone, his head flew back, then just as suddenly snapped back down. One hand came up to massage his jaw, then Cavanaugh's eyes narrowed and glared in rage at Edward - before they suddenly rolled back in their sockets, and the big man flopped backwards with a thud.

Edward couldn't believe his luck - he'd hit Cavanaugh just right. Just then, a loud, wordless scream of mortal terror sounded from the hallway. After scrambling to his feet, Edward dashed headlong through the open doorway. Conner had the workman in a headlock, his right hand about covered the man's face, his left hand was on his shoulder, holding the body still.

_He's going to break his neck!_

Only one thing to do. Bending his left knee, and going down on his hands, Edward swung his right leg in a right - to - left arc as hard and fast as he could. Conner wasn't prepared for the move, and he went down backwards, then landed with a thundering crash which shook the walls.

The 'enforcer's' head connected so hard with the floor, it raised up a small plume of dust, but Ed heard the loud _crack_ and saw Conner's head bounce up and down twice from the contact. The workman had gone down with Conner, and he lay there, moaning, and tossing his head (his cloth cap had fallen off) back and forth. Ed crawled up and lightly slapped the man on his cheeks "Hey, you! Wake up! C'mon, we've got to get out of here!"

The workman's eyes snapped open, they rolled around in fear before settling on Edward. Then they narrowed before he spoke. "Oy, you! This building is condemned, no tramps allowed!"

"I'm not a tramp!" Ed snarled, "I'm a - ..." His voice trailed off when he suddenly heard shuffling noises come from inside the room. "Forget that, I'll tell you later, let's be gone before these two wake up!" He hauled the workman to his feet and tried to pull him down the hallway, but the man resisted.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me 'oo you are!"

Footsteps came from the room and Ed turned to see Cavanaugh standing there and glaring while a trickle of blood came from his lower lip. "You've been a bad boy, Eddie, a **very** bad boy." he rasped.

Edward gritted his teeth, he hated to be called "Eddie".

_And now I'm going to be even badder! _

He set his feet, then charged at Cavanaugh, a feral growl of rage coming from his throat. The surprise wiped the grin off Cavanaugh's face, and he had the grace to look rather shocked when Edward's right shoe made violent contact with his chest and sent him flying backwards. A sickening _crack!_ followed the contact of Cavanaugh's head with the door jamb, and the man slid bonelessly to the floor.

Edward stood over him, panting. Cavanaugh had gone down too fast, and Edward felt cheated, somehow. He'd wanted more of a fight with the man - then Conner groaned, and Edward froze. As much as he hated Cavanaugh, Edward both hated and feared Conner. He backed up quickly, and turned back to the workman, whose face constricted in terror because Edward was still growling.

"Stay back, you! Stay back!" Edward ignored him and kept walking.

"These bastards kidnapped and drugged me," Edward jerked his head in their direction "and now I'm escaping. You can do what you like, but I'm getting out of here!" Conner moaned loudly, and Edward took to his heels, the workman just in front of him. When the man stopped at the elevator and pressed the call button, Edward snapped "Forget that! It takes too long!" He turned to his right and pelted down the hallway to the stairs, he could hear someone running behind him, but Edward didn't look to see who it was.

Down the stairs he went, two at a time. Only once did he look up, but the footsteps behind him belonged to the workman, and Edward relaxed for a moment. When he got to the last flight of steps, he slowed slightly, and looked suspiciously into the shadows, but no one was hiding there this time. He yanked the "Lobby" door open with rather more force than he needed to and raced out onto the ground floor of the building. But he'd taken only one step towards the front entrance doors when the workman called out "They're locked from the outside!"

When Edward glared back, the man blanched, but jerked his thumb towards another set of doors.

"We're comin' in the back to do our work, I just came early to unlock and clear out any tramps squattin' 'ere." So, that explained why Conner and Cavanaugh had also come early, it was to secure their prisoner and move him. With a mumbled "thank you", Edward raced past the startled workman and to the back door. He ran down a short corridor, and there was the door, chocked open. He bolted through it, and out into the fresh air and sunlight. Edward was finally free.

A large, dark-colored car, it's trunk, and right rear door open, idled in the small courtyard behind the building, and Edward saw a scuffle going on next to it. Two figures were struggling, a young woman and a boy. The woman was Tola, and she was fighting to hang on to the boy, who was fighting just as hard to get loose from her grasp.

"Let me go!" the male cried and just as he said it, he turned his head and their eyes met. It was Alphonse.

"BROTHER!" he yelled, and with one hard jerk, yanked his arm out of Tolas's hands.

She just stood there for a moment, with a look of shock on her beautiful face, before crying out "Mathun! The Amestrine has escaped!" Edward was shocked too.

_Who is Mathun?_

He got his answer a heartbeat after that when strong arms, like steel bands suddenly wrapped around him, and a familiar voice whispered in his ear "Why are you in such a hurry? Stay with us awhile." The voice belonged to Tolas's brother, the man who had distracted him in the pub while she slipped a tranquilizing drug into his wine.

A growl began deep in Edward's throat.

"Let go of me!" he snarled.

The black haired man chuckled in his ear, then called out "Hurry up, Mathun! This one is still very spirited!" To Edward's horror, a pair of legs slid into view out the open back door of the car, followed by the rest of The Balding Man.

_So that is Mathun_.

He was smiling - Edward didn't know at who - but frankly, Mathun's smile made his skin crawl. In Mathun's right hand was a filled hypodermic needle, the needle tipped up, and a clear lliquid dripping off it's tip. In his left, was a small piece of cotton, probably soaked with alcohol. "Tola, why aren't you holding on to that boy?"

The thought flashed through Edward's mind:

_That needle is meant for Alphonse!_

He started struggling in earnest, and at the same time he yelled **"ALPHONSE! ** **RUN!"** But Alphonse froze because his brother was in danger, and he didn't want to leave him.

Mathun's smile slipped just for an instant. "Where are Conner and Cavanaugh, Edward. What did you do to them?"

"I killed the bastards!" spat Edward, he was seething with rage and fear because he couldn't seem to shift the Black Haired man's grip. Mathun just _laughed_ and the sound turned Edward's blood to ice.

"I don't believe you, but no matter, both are quite hard to kill. In the meantime, there is enough sedative here to calm both of you down. Ryos, can you pull his left sleeve up a bit? Ah, here comes Conner, he will give you a hand."

Edward's whole body trembled and images raced through his head: Alphonse in the grip of these bastards, Alphonse thrown onto a bed and held down, Alphonse injected with truth serum and forced to tell all...

Something deep inside Edward went _snap!_

A loud and incoherent scream of rage burst from his lips, and Edward went, well, slightly insane. As hard as he could, he stomped on the toes of Ryos's right foot, and viciously kicked his left shin. The man grunted, and loosened his hold. Pivoting slightly, Edward rammed his left elbow into his captor's ribs, making him grunt again - and let go. Edward grabbed both of Ryos's hands, rammed him with his left hip, hunched forwards, then pulled forwards and down.

Edward's angry yell blended with the surprised one of Ryos as he flew over the blonde's head - straight into Mathun - who went down with a startled cry, the needle flying one way, the cotton the other. Edward spun around to face Conner, who was coming at him with both arms spread out, ready to grab and pin. Edward backed up, and he felt something move under his right foot, and he stumbled slightly before looking down. It was that damn needle.

Conner's hand brushed Edward's left shoulder, and he quickly ducked, and scooped up the syringe with his right hand.

_No time to be graceful_.

Edward looked up in time to ram the needle into Conner's left palm. The man roared in dismay, as Edward gave the plunger a little push. Conner then backhanded him with enough force to send him flying backwards, and make his ears ring.

The 'enforcer' fell to his knees before pulling the needle out of his palm, and then he crushed it in his enormous fist. Big mistake on his part, which Conner realized too late. He had enough time to utter one profanity before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell, face-first, with a loud crash.

Edward stared in abject surprise - he had beaten Conner - he felt like performing a little victory dance right there. But now wasn't the time, Ryos was getting back up, he was helping Mathun to his feet, before turning an angry blue-eyed glare over at Edward.

Another yell drew his attention back to the door, Cavanaugh was coming out, and he was making straight for Edward, his face red with rage.

_What do I have to do to keep that bastard down?_ was Edward's wild thought. And now someone was tugging at his right arm, and he looked up to see the anxious and tear-stained face of Alphonse.

"Brother! Are you all right?!" Edward nodded his assent and scrambled to his feet. "Al, can you run?" Alphonse nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "Then let's get out of here!" As one, they turned and fled up the alley, away from their kidnappers.


	18. Chapter 18

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created during the writing of this story. I just like to play around in it's world for awhile.

**Summary:** After Edward fights off a mysterious man attempts who is attempting to kidnap him, he and Ian foil the escape attempt of his accomplices. While Carpenter is being interviewed by Button, Ed and Ian go to visit Alphonse at his college lodgings.. The chance repeating of a certain word causes Ed to delve into his memories of the time he and Al really were kidnapped while they were stranded in the machine world. Part one of the flashback is over, and we return to the present day in Londonium.

Chapter Eighteen: In which a return trip is made

Ian noticed Edward's surprised look, but he mentally filed that information away for later. "Lilith, can you describe him?" A small line appeared between her perfectly arched brows - Lilith's indication of hard thought.

"Only medium height, 5 feet, 5 inches, portruding blue eyes, thin lips, a rather pasty complexion, narrow nose, and a weak chin."

Ian smiled warmly at Lilith. "That is very thorough, Miss - ?"

"Lancaster, Lilith Lancaster, Colonel Bond."

Ian was astonished, flabbergasted, _gobsmacked_ even; should he bow, pull his forelock, drop to his knees and put his forehead on the floor? This girl was no ordinary coed, for she was the Queen's granddaughter, the _Princess_ Lilith of the House of Lancaster, 8th in line to the throne of New Britain.

Those delicately arched browns drew together in a glare. "Don't you DARE bow, Colonel Bond! I don't want to be treated any differently from other students."

Ian couldn't believe what he was hearing. The Secret Service, of which MI7 was just a small arm, was in charge of protecting the Royal family. Lilith could read his mind.

"The agent in charge of 'minding' me is floating about outside somewhere, but I'm quite safe here with all these young men to protect me. So _please_ don't call her on the carpet!"

How could Bond resist the pleading in those big, brown eyes? He reddened and stepped back, disguising a murmured "Yes, your majesty" as a cough. Both Pratchett and Prince were back to grinning like maniacs, but the Elric brothers looked utterly mystified. Only Miss Chievous acted like she knew the truth all along.

"Besides, being born a princess is nothing to compared to a 16 year old boy already being a major in his country's armed forces." Lilith smiled upon Alphonse and it was his turn to blush.

"Um, actually, Pr - " she shot him a dangerous look, so Alphonse gulped and fought back the sudden urge to hide behind his brother before continuing. "Anyone who passes the alchemy exam and attains the State Alchemist license is automatically commissioned to the rank of Major."

"Now, Brother here," he patted Edward's right arm, "passed the exam at the age of 12, the youngest in the history of Amestris.!"

Edward flushed crimson and looked down at the floor, all the eyes on him made him wish it would magically open and swallow him up because his days as an attention-seeking teen hothead were long over.

"Really, Alphonse?" Lilith turned to Edward and practically _sparkled_ at him. "That's quite an impressive accomplishment, Colonel Elric!" Edward's already flushed face turned an even darker shade of red.

"Well, you see, um - our mother had died when we were very young, and then there was an accident, see - and er, I lost my right arm and part of my left leg." He paused and thought hard about what to say next. "So, erm - our father had disapppeared, and as the older brother, it was my job to take care of Alphonse. We'd been studying the alchemy books our father had, and we'd heard of the Philosopher's Stone, which enables the user to bypass all the laws of alchemy."

Edward had been speaking while still staring at the floor. Now he looked up and met the eyes of Lilith, who was looking at him with frank curiosity. It made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Er, - but only State Alchemists are allowed to access the Central Library, where rare books on alchemy are kept. So, I traveled to Central to take the alchemy exam - aanndddd - I passed. End of story." Edward put his hands behind his back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing everyone would just _stop_ staring at him. When he looked back down, it was to catch Ian's clinical gaze dissecting him. "Um, Ian, don't we have a morgue to visit?"

"Yes, Edward," his reply was dry "we _do _have a morgue to visit." Edward's cheeks had finally returned to their normal pale hue, but now two spots of color appeared in them.

_Shit! He doesn't believe me!_

"A morgue?" chorused Alphonse, Pratchett, and Prince.

"What's this man have to do with a morgue!" Pratchett went up to Lilith and put his arms around her shoulders in a possessive manner which made Prince feel rather cross.

"A morgue?" echoed Lilith.

"Well, - erm - " Edward stuttered "there's a body in the Central Londonium Morguewhichwe think is him, but we need someone to make a positive identification."

"How did he die?" Lilith looked suspiciously at Edward as she said it.

"I shot him." Ian looked and sounded almost apologetic for what he'd done. The threee younger males looked back and forth from Ian to Lilith, like spectators at a tennis match.

"Why did you shoot him?"

"He was attacking me."

"Is that why you are all banged up?"

"Yes."

"He must have hit you quite hard."

"Yes, well, he had a set of brass knuckles - and a partner."

"Did you shoot him too?"

"Yes, but I only winged him."

"Horrid little man! I hope he's suffering." Lilith patted Ian's arm as if to comfort him. "Take me to this morgue." He bowed his head and murmured something.

"Ah!" she held up one beautifully manicured finger. "What did I tell you, Colonel?"

* * *

Ten minutes later, Prince's little Humber-mobile, followed by Ian's Morris Major 6 nosed it's way out of the labyrinth which was the campus of Highgate University. Prince drove, with Pratchett seated next to him, and Alphonse wedged into the backseat. Edward and Ian were in the front of his car, with the Princess Lilith in solitary splendor in back. Somewhere behind, the agent assigned to guard Lilith was shadowing them - but they would never see her unless danger threatened.

Edward didn't know if either Lilith or his brother were wearing their seat belts, but considering the way certain people drove... He needn't have worried overmuch about his little brother. Alphonse was a veteran passenger of Prince's car. As they whizzed through Londonium traffic (late morning traffic was said to be _light_, but Alphonse couldn't see any difference between it and rush hour traffic), both Prince and Pratchett were razzing him about the state of his hair.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's getting a bit 'scruffy', mate" Prince interjected over his shoulder, only one eye on the massive HGV which seemed to be making for a head-on collision with the little car.

"It's not 'scruffy'!" Alphonse protested "I just want a change from short hair!"

Back in Ian's car, the spymaster frowned at the speeding and swerving Humber-mobile. "Doesn't that boy keep his eyes on the road?" A brooding Edward replied before Lilith could.

Um, in a word? No."

Lilith giggled before leaning forward and slapping Edward's shoulder. "Here now! Prince always keeps at least _one_ eye on the road! The other is too busy looking for pretty girls on the sidewalk."

* * *

Back at the Central Londonium Morgue, Edward didn't accompany Lilith to the autopsy room. Instead, he sat in a waiting area near the reception desk with Prince and Alphonse. Ian escorted Lilith through the swinging wooden doors, accompanied by Pratchett who insisted on going along as 'protection'.

"Protection from _what_!" demanded a cranky Prince.

"Well, you know, a morgue attendant could have gone mad down there - you know they could are breathing formaldehyde fumes all day - and what if he goes after Lilith with a bone saw, or something!" He reddened when Alphonse laughed at him.

"She's got Colonel Bond to protect her, Pratchett, and he's probably armed."

"Yeah, well," Pratchett huffed in annoyance "what if he gets knocked out, who's going to protect her?" Alphonse gave up trying to reason with Pratchett. His roommate was quite keen on Lilith and he didn't want to miss up any chance to show up Prince - who was also keen on Lilith - around her.

_What is it about love which drives normal people to insanity?_ he mused internally.

He saw it far too often with Brother and Winry, who circled each other like a pair of spinning magnets, alternately repelling and attracting one another. One of them would make an advance, and the other, not certain of how to react would freeze up. And the advancer, already nervous, would back off, invariably confusing the advancee. It all ended up -occasionally in tears - but mostly in hurt feelings, yelling, and wrench throwing; then finally a frosty silence which could last for days.

Eventually, it would thaw enough for sibling-like bantering before the whole cycle began again. When not studying, Alphonse would sit and try to puzzle out how to get them to communicate. The thorniest problem was hoe to get them past their stubborn prides and admit their feelings. Brother, in particular, was one of the most obstinate persons Alphonse had ever known. He could point out (till he was blue in the face) that Brother and Winry were meant to be together, for why else would they fight like a married couple?

Not that he got any thanks for shining a light on the truth. From Winry, he'd get a cold "butt out, Alphonse!", and threats of a 'wrenching'. Brother would frequently erupted into a screaming tirade full of obscenities, andthen give Alphonse a whap on the head. But he hadn't speaken to Edward for almost six weeks about Winry, so it was time he tackled him again on the subject of his love life.

But not now.

_Brother is brooding again._

While stopped at a red light on the way over, Alphonse had looked out the back window of the Humber-mobile at Colonel Bond's car. Ian had slightly nodded his head, while Lilith playfully waggled her fingers. But Brother hadn't acknowledged him at all, instead he had just sat with his chin propped in his left hand while he stared, blank-faced, out the side window. Alphonse could wonder what it was all about until the cows came home; Brother kept a lot locked up inside him.

* * *

For all his courage in the face of extreme danger, Edward was deathly afraid of opening up and speaking about what he felt. Sometimes, Alphonse could coax it out of him, but not here, and especially not in front of Prince. No way would he speak in front of strangers, so Alphonse relaxed (or tried to) in the uncomfortable chair and pretended to read a six month old copy of 'Medical Examiner's Monthly'. Secretly, he eyed Edward who sat opposite him, legs crossed (flesh leg uppermost), right elbow on the armrest, and chin propped in the right hand this time, while he stared sightlessly into the distance.

Al turned his head to his left and caught Prince's eye. He shrugged an answer to his friend's eyebrow lifted in inquiry and mouthed 'I'll tell you later.'

With a sudden 'whoosh!', the wooden doors popped open, and Pratchett, his hand over his mouth rushed out, his eyes wide and frantic as his head swiveled left and right, like he was searching for something. The receptionist seemed to know what he was looking for.

"To your left past the desk, sir, and then another left." Pratchett rushed off in the direction her pointing finger had indicated, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel with it's mouth full of acorns. Prince shot Alphonse an evil grin before he lept up and dashed off after his friend.

Edward had finally come out of his trance and he looked curiously at Alphonse, before turning back to the doors which opened again to reveal Ian with his arm around Lilith, who was walking slowly, her face pale.

_Her first visit to a morgue,_ Edward felt a surge of pity _I hope the body didn't jump at her too!_

Ian knew what he was thinking. "No, it wasn't the body - and yes, she positively identified him - just one of the morgue attendants having a kip under a sheet on the next table. Miss Lilith was a a rock, and she took it in stride, but Pratchett screamed like a little girl."

Edward stood up and offered Lilith his chair, she sat down with a grateful smile at him. "You are in shock, Miss Lancaster. I suggest a hot drink and some food as soon as possible."

Alphonse brightened at the suggestion of food, teenage boys like him were almost always hungry. "It is close to noon, Brother, maybe we could still get 'elevenses' somewhere!"

"What do you mean _we_, Al?"

"But - I'm _starving_ Brother! Studying takes a lot out of me!"

Alphonse's stomach growled loudly, as if to underscore his point.

"And what are 'elevenses'?" Edward was curious about the word.

"It's sort of a pre-lunch tea, like appetizers." Alphonse explained, ticking off the elements on his fingers. "You have tea, of course, then there's scones with clotted cream, buns - cream buns, usually, and little frosted cakes!"

Al's stomach growled again,and Edward swallowed because his mouth had suddenly begun to produce rather too much saliva. Lilith smiled at the brother's verbal sparring, the morgue had been a shock to this sheltered girl and she couldn't think of food. But a 'cuppa' sounded nice.

Edward and Alphonse had moved on to physical sparring ninety seconds later, and the elder had the younger in a headlock with his left arm, and he was rubbing the knuckles of his right over Alphonse's scalp. "Before you stuff yourself silly, I think you should get a little exercise first!"

"OW! Stop it, Brother! I don't want to spar now!" Together, they swayed back and forth, Alphonse tried to twist free, but Edward's grip was unbreakable. Then Al tried to kick him, but Edward adroitly trapped Al's legs with his own. Unfortunately, in doing this, Edward had slackened the grip of his left arm and Al took full advantage of his lapse in concentration.

Taking hold of Edward's left hand with both of his, Al shifted the stance of his legs, pushed his left hip against his brother's right, then hunched his shoulders before he pulled forwards and down. With a yelp of surprise, Edward suddenly found himself being flipped upside down in the air over Alphonse before he hit the floor with a loud crash.

"Do I have to seperate you two!" Edward looked up from his position on the floor to see a scowling Ian, hands on hips and glaring at both of the brothers. Edward grinned weakly and explained.

"See, it's our pre-lunch workout." His suddenly growling stomach seconded the motion.

* * *

Which is why twenty minutes later found the group at a nearby teashop, enjoying a sort of hybrid cream tea/lunch. Recovered from his experience at the morgue, Pratchett was being a good trencherman, gobbling scones, buns, and a large slice and steak-and-kidney pie; between bites he was washing them down with cup after cup of tea. Prince was matching his friend bite for bite, so an appalled Lilith had moved to sit next to Ian. Both sipped their tea and decorously ate their scones - and waited for the two friends to explode.

On the opposite side of the table, the Elric brothers were almost as bad. Between their work of demolishing another pie, and plate of scones and buns, they consulted in hushed whispers, and every so often, would pause and sneak glances at Ian. They appeared to be trying to decide something, but couldn't seem to concur.

Alphonse didn't like the idea apparently, he kept shaking his head and hissing _"No, Brother! we can't!"_

And Edward would hiss back _"We have no choice, Al! If that man in the morgue is connected, it could explain a lot of things. I have to be honest with Bond."_

_"But Brother! That was such a painful time; I don't even want to think about it! Besides, the fewer people who know about the machine world, the better!" _Alphonse finished with an emphatic nod of his head before resuming the attack on his lunch.

_They need to whisper more quietly_, Ian mused _just what is this 'machine world' they are talking about?_ He could see Edward wanted to tell all, as the elder brother, it was his decision to make, but he wouldn't if Alphonse disapproved. Here is where the strong bond between the brothers got rather inconvenient, the decision to talk would have to be mutual - or not at all.

* * *

After lunch, they drove back to campus - Alphonse, Pratchett, Prince, and Lilith all had afternoon classes to attend. While the first three disappeared into Hotspur Hall to fetch their books; Lilith ran in the opposite direction, to Lady Jane Women's Residence Hall for her's. Of course, all these classes were on the far end of campus, miles away, the first beginning at one o'clock sharp.

If they walked (there wasn't any parking for students - only teachers and TAs - around the sciences buildings) no way would they make it in time. so Ian had agreed to drive all of them. Five minutes later, everyone was back - Prince, Pratchett, and Lilith scrambled in the back, and Edward sat in the middle of the front seat, so Alphonse could sit next to him, a heavy bookbag stowed at his feet.

The trio in back chattered away animatedly, with Alphonse tossing back random comments. While he was taking Veterinary Science, Pratchett was studying Business, Prince was taking Law Studies, and Lilith's chosen field was Technology Studies. She was telling the others about a new invention from L.I.T. (Londonium Institute of Technology), an electronic computing machine. Part of her course work involved testing it with possible new uses.

Lilith was going on about an epiphay she'd had the the other night, which involved somehow linking a worldwide network of these machines in something she had coined the phrase _Worldnet_ for.

"For what purpose, what would it be good for?" Pratchett was laughing.

"People worldwide could communicate instantaneously with each other," Lilith argued back "mostly for business, but I think there would be other commercial uses for it."

Alphonse entered the argument with "But Lilith, we have a thing called a telephone for that!"

"Alphonse," Lilith leaned forward, her big brown eyes shining, "Can telephones send documents, or pictures?"

He had to back down then, she had a point there. It was a pity Lilith wouldn't be able to go any further with this after college. As an heir to the throne, she would be expected to marry well and produce more heirs. On the bright side, the concept of women having careers outside of the traditional routes of marriage and children was the exception rather than the rule of their alchemic world.

He looked over at Edward and sighed - quietly. Communication was key - if only he could communicate with his brother. _Don't tell him, brother - please!_


	19. Chapter 19

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, but I do own any OCs I 've created for this story. Which I swear Edward and Alphonse will _never_ fall in love with! Despite what my siblings think, I just like to play around in it's world for awhile.

**Summary:** After Edward recalls a painful moment from his and Al's time in the machine world, he sees a connection between the murders of his contacts, the ferry incident, and the attacks on Colonel Bond. He badly wants to be honest and tell Ian about this, but Alphonse has issues about opening old wounds and he won't hear of it.

**Warning:** A bit of cussing here, and lots of forensic stuff, death, and all that.

Chapter Nineteen: In which Edward and Ian speak of many things: of secrets and lasers, of empires and forensics. My longest chapter yet could also be called "C.S.I. - Londonium."

At the Sciences building, Edward followed Alphonse out of the car the moment the doors opened. Putting a hand on his little brother's shoulder, Ed bent his head slightly and whispered urgently, softer this time, so not even Ian could hear. Both looked back at Bond, then at each other before walking several paces away to the shade of a small patch of trees and continuing their disagreement. Ian could see it wasn't going well: Edward had his hands up as he made subtle gestures, but he was slightly turned away from the car, so Ian couldn't read his lips.

Butdespite him shaking his head, he could read Alphonse's.The boy was speaking essentially the same words over and over: _No brother, no! I can't do it, it hurts too much to even think about, don't tell him, please! _

A bell rang from the Sciences building, then Alphonse turned and looked anxiously at the clock affixed above the main door, in the distance, he could hear Pratchett calling "You're going to be late, Alphonse!"

_Brother, I've got to go to class!_

Edward looked up finally, and now Ian could read his lips _Please think about it, we'll talk more later._

Alphonse shook his head again. _I won't change my mind, brother, even if there are connections, just thinking about what happened to you, to me, makes me sick._

Ian saw when Edward finally threw in the towel, his head and shoulders drooped, and his whole body slumped in defeat. His lips moved one final time _All right, Al, you win. I will keep this secret for now. Have a good day in class_.

Alphonse had been moving away from Edward, but now he hesitated, then after stealing another glance at the clock, he ran back to Edward and hugged him. _Thank you, brother_.

Edward hugged Alphonse back, and gave him a warm smile while platonically ruffling his hair; then the brotherly moment was over. Alphonse turned back again and ran to class, his bookbag bouncing off his right hip with every stride.

Edward was his usual silent self in the car, brooding out the window with his chin cupped in his left hand. Ian had to watch traffic, but his mind was racing with the questions he wanted to ask, because the curiosity was driving him _crazy_. If he hadn't been driving, he'd have been shaking Elric like a rag doll, and demanding he talk. But Edward didn't utter a syllable until they got to Bond's office, and then they were there just long enough to pick up six buff expanding folders.

Because their final destination was Edward's lodgings. On the way there, Ian explained his logic: "If we stay in my office, we're sure to be interrupted by every government flunky with every frivolous bit of whatever fluff and nonsense these paper pushers can invent to waste my time."

"And you think they won't find you at my apartment?" Edward was dubious Ian wouldn't be found, he knew how persistant government functionaries could be.

"I _know_ they won't, Edward. Which is perfect because we've got a lot on our plates."

Edward's lodgings were dark and silent, but also spotlessly clean, smelling faiintly of bleach, and beeswax. After they pulled off their shoes by the front door, the pair went into the dining room where they proceeded to cover the surface of the gleaming, waxed table with papers. The first folder Ian opened contained a transcript of Button's interview with Carpenter, plus preliminary reports on his accomplices: Whale and Coat.

The transcript he gave to Edward to read, and Ian just watched the emotions march across the blonde's face: disgust, bewilderment, amusement, annoyance, and finally outright astonishment. "Where the hell do these crazy people come from!"

He threw the transcript down with enough force to ruffle the pages of the other reports. "I really wish Button hadn't mentioned Al, I have a bad feeling Carpenter might try to go after him."

"You are quite fond of your little brother." Bond said it as a simple statement of fact. The Elric brothers had a very tight bond.

"Al's the only family I have, and we've been through a lot together, what with our weird childhood and all. Now Amestris is at peace, I want the rest of his teen years to be as normal as possible." Edward paused as his face quirked in a toothy grin. "As if anyone can remember what 'normal' means."

"You said your childhood was _weird_?"

Ian's childhood had been utterly normal, he mostly remembered being _bored_ out of his mind, except when devouring spy novels, which he read surreptitiously with the aid of a torch under his bedcovers.

"Hmmm," Edward seemed to be considering the implications of what he was going to say. "Mostly because of our father. His name was Hohenheim - Hohenheim Elric. He was also known as Hohenheim of Light, and he was quite a powerful alchemist."

"You must have been very proud to be known as his son."

"Um," now Edward looked very pained, "actually, I hated the bastard's guts."

It was Ian's turn to look astonished. "Eh? Whatever for?"

"He abandoned us. I was very young, no more than 4 years old. Al was just starting to toddle, so he barely remembers him. Our mother lasted only a few more years before she died, and I've always blamed him for her death."

Ian felt a bit embarassed for coaxing Elric to talk about his parents, so he didn't say anything for a few awkward moments. Until Edward took up the conversational slack.

"There was some sort of sickness going around the village when she died, and everyone thought that was the cause. But, you know what? I really think she actually died of a broken heart."

Ian still said nothing, but he was filled with an intense sadness for Edward. Both of Ian's parents were still alive, and happily married to each other. Plus, he had two brothers, and three sisters as well. And this strange young man had only his brother to serve has his family. He knew life was rarely fair, but this seemed especially cruel.

"I didn't see the bastard for over ten years, and you want to know what I did when he finally showed his face in Risembool again?"

"Surprise me."

"I raced across the room and I slugged him - with my automail hand."

"Did you feel better after?"

"Yeah," Edward smiled that toothy grin again, "I did. For a while. But now I regret lashing out at him the way I did. When circumstances threw us together again, and forced me to depend on him, we came to an _understanding_, of a sort. He explained a lot of things to me - about why he left - but I think he would have told me a _lot_ more if I hadn't been so hostile."

Edward suddenly seemed intensely interested in the state of his cuticles for an awkward period of perhaps 90 seconds before he spoke again. "O.K., Ian, I've told you a little bit, now it's your turn."

Ian drew breath, as if to speak. He would start with his parents, Arthur and Emma. They were his origins, after all.

"Tell me about - Meso-America."

Ian snapped his mouth shut again. That was quite an abrupt about face.

"I don't know much about it, Ian, other than what school textbooks said when I was a kid. Meso-America was referred to as a huge country ruled by a bloodthirsty race called the Incas. And one fine day, Fuhrer Bradley would the brave Armed Forces of Amestris into the country to _liberate_ it."

"Good heavens! What sort of textbooks did you have?"

Edward grinned again, ruefully this time. "Apparently, really fucked-up ones. I can tell by the look on your face they were rather, um - _inaccurate_."

"How ever did you survive your upbringing?"

"I never gave up, and never gave in." came the grim reply. "Now, tell me the real story."

"The real story of Meso-America is really quite simple, the southern half of the continent was ruled by the Inca Empire, and about 500 years ago, they clashed with the Alhambran Empire, who had a foothold in the northern half. The Alhambrans had horses, guns, and cannons - modern weapons for the time against the Inca's spears and arrows."

Ian paused briefly to make sure he still had Edward's attention. The last thing he wanted to do was be pretentiously boring like Pratchett had been.

"But the Incas had one important advanage - their main god, Quetzelcoatl, was quite real. And he gave the Incas a super-weapon a sort of gun which shot a bean of highly concentrated light. During a furious, deciding battle on the Plains of Kokopelli, nearly the entire Alhambran Army was reduced to a smoking hole in the ground, in the space of only a few hours."

"Concentrated light, huh? Sounds like a sort of alchemy to me. Have you even seen this weapon?"

"No, not personally, but scientists from the Londonium Institute of Technology got to inspect it a few years ago. The Incans kindly demonstrated it for them- quite impressive. The Incan name for it translated as _Lightning Bolt of the Gods_, but the L.I.T. scientists simply christined it a _laser_."

"Laser?" Edward was stubborn, and he still considered this a form of alchemy, and not technology.

"No. L.A.S.E.R. - it stands for _Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation_. The Incas used it to destroy the Alhambran presence and conquer most of the northern half of the continent. Only the far north- Acadia - escaped their grasp, too cold for their liking."

Edward mentally filed this information away for later reference, before he asked his next question:

"What is the connection between the Incas, Meso-America, and Christianity?"

"There's not a lot of solid fact, so I'll start with the myth. The legend says a charismatic preacher named Jesus crossed the Gate from a parallel Earth just over 1,000 years ago, and he converted much of our world to this religion named for him before he disappeared. Some say he went to heaven, while others say he returned to the world beyond the Gate. Unfortunately for Jesus, he didn't have very able disciples and Christianity died out in many countries."

"And the fact?"

"His early followers claimed Jesus worked many miracles in his time here: healing the sick, turning grass into bread, and leaves into fish, and even raising the dead (here Edward thought of Father Cornello, the phony priest he and Al had exposed in Lior). Except for that last one, Jesus sounds like an alchemist."

Edward nodded in agreement. "When Al and I trained with a woman named Izumi Curtis, she used to tell us stories about an alternate world beyond the Gate, about alchemists in that world crossing over to share knowledge with the alchemists here. But she swore up and down they were just stories."

"Well, that is the myth. The facts are the early Christians in Meso-America lived quite amiably with the native tribes, and then the Incas, but about 100 years ago, a new sect - Church of the One Holy Light - arose. This one is rather more aggressive, and it's stated it's intention of overthrowing the ruling family and replacing it with a strict Holy Book-based theocracy. Roughly 25 years ago, they began sending small groups of what they called _Pioneers_ to several countries, including New Britain. These groups started to cause trouble almost immediately."

"What kind of trouble?" At the back of Edward's mind niggled this thought - with Amestris's borders now open, would this sect send missionaries? Missionaries who would eventually clash with the Ishbalans?

"It usually consists of harassing alchemists with petty vandalism, hate mail, obscene phone calls, criminal trespass, killing pets, that sort of thing. They seem to have it in for alchemy, which they equate with witchcraft; and yes, they are harassing the witches and wizards of New Britain too."

"These characters we encountered today - Carpenter, Whale, and Coat - all have extensive rap sheets, and what is most troubling is the second generation of troublemakers, who were born here, such as Joseph Coat. They seem to be willing to go further, and have escalated to outright violence - assault, rape, burglary, arson, kidnapping..."

"Kidnapping?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Just before you came here, we cracked a sensational case of the kidnapping of a young woman from an alchemic family. They held her for ten days in an underground room, where they tried to _'deprogram'_ her. But all they succeeded in doing was very nearly driving the poor girl insane! These people were in _way_ over their heads, but they refused to admit it. Instead, they decided the _'demons'_ had too secure a hold on her, and when we moved in, they were in the process of preparing to burn her at the stake. Oh, they tried to call it a _'May Pole'_, but it's September - plus they were piling cords of wood around it."

Edward felt a chill pass through him, If he hadn't been quick enough this morning, he could have ended up a prisoner somewhere in a dark underground room. The conviction grew he needed to put Alphonse on his guard.

"The really ironic part of this is, this sect is actually going against the teachings of this Jesus fellow. One of his main tenets was to show love, tolerance, and compassions towards others, even if they hate you."

Edward grunted in agreement. "Sometimes, it's convenient to ignore things which get in one's way." This was reminding him far too much of the Scar incident, and he knew Ian was planning to ask more questions about it. He had to act fast to nip this conversation in the bud. Reaching out his metal right hand (Bond had seen his prosthetics last night, so Edward felt comfortable removing his gloves), he tapped the remaining pile of expanding folders.

"I take it these folders concern my murdered contacts?"

He was trying to distract Ian - and Ian knew it. For the time being, he let Edward have his way. He'd found patience was really a virtue, and eventually, Edward would tell him the whole backstory, despite Alphonse's opposition.

Edward held the same hand out, palm upward, and fingers curving slightly. "Let's have them then."

Ian hesitated. "Edward, these folders contain some rather grisly photos - crime scene, and autopsy; and graphic reports - they might sicken you."

Edward answered by repeating his _gimme_ hand motion. "I've got an iron stomach, so I think I can stand the sight of a little blood."

Ian sighed and pulled the top forder off the pile before pushing it over towards Edward. The name: _F.F. Machus_ was written on the flap in bold, black letters.

Edward pulled off the elastic holding the folder shut and pulled out a handful of papers underneath a stack of glossy color photographs. The top photo was of Machus in life: a long-faced, balding man in his 50s, with grey eyes and luxurious, but greying mutton-chop whiskers. _Quite a good looking fellow_ Edward thought, Machus's thick whiskers balanced the shape of his face nicely.

The next photo made him blanch. It was a crime scene photo of Machus hanging at the end of a bell rope, andthat face was swollen to twice it's normal width, and it was now dark purple in color. The nearly black tongue stuck out the left side of his mouth, and the eye presented to the camera was thankfully closed.

But the third photo, that was worse - much worse. It was a close up of Machus on a morgue slab, and now the purple of his face looked two-toned - a blotch on his left cheek seemed to be much darker,and his tongue was so black, it looked like it had been burnt. The left eye was still closed, but the right was partially open, as if he was winking. Edward noticed odd red spots on the white scelera of the eye, so he showed the photo to Ian. "What is that?"

"Read the autopsy report, Edward." Ian had seen the photos and read the reports, he neither needed, nor wanted to see them again.

Edward riffled through the papers and found the forensic, and autopsy reports. After scanning the first one, he read a line _"the use of luminescence indicated the presencee of blood spatter on the walls of, and a rug on the floor of the sacristy."_

"Luminescence is a sprayable liquid which binds to blood and shows it up under ultraviolet light, even under a layer of paint."

Edward couldn't help but gape in astonishment. "I feel like a caveman who has just discovered fire."

He went back to reading for a moment before pausing again. "And I'm a terrible host too. Can I get you something to drink?"

"You keep reading, Edward. It's too early for liquor, so I'll just investigate your fridge, if you don't mind."

While Ian did that - Edward could hear the clinking of glassware, and he hoped Ian didn't make a mess. He had a niggling suspicious Mrs. Ravensworth wouldn't approve. Once finished with the forensics report, he picked up the autopsy report and started reading.

As Ian came back with a pitcher of red juice and 2 glasses, Edward read a line to him, _"...further examination found the presence of deep tissue damage to the left side of the face, roughly equidistant between the nose and the ear."_

He accepted the filled glass Ian handing to him with a muttered_ 'Thanks' _while he moved on to a paragaraph about the state of Machus's eyes. _"Piticial hemorrhaging was discovered in the scelera of both eyes."_ "What does that word mean?"

Ian took a sip from his glass _Mmm, strawberry juice._ "Um, this sort of hemorrhaging happens when small blood vessels in the eye rupture as the result of strangulation."

"You mean, the act of hanging _didn't_ break his neck?"

"Read to the end of the report."

Edward did so, and once he was done, he flipped all the pages back to the front page of the report, then he folded his hands over them and was silent for a long time thereafter. _And I thought Comstock's death was cruel!_ Machus had been stunned with a hard blow to the left side of his face - probably with a punch from a closed fist. Then a noose made from one of the bell ropes had been placed around his neck, and he'd been hoisted up into the belfry and left to slowly strangle to death.

He picked up the reports, and the photos (which included more crime scene shots from every angle), before shoving them back into the folder and replacing the elastic band. Without another word, Ian gave him the next one. This one had _Remigius Youngbeck_ written in the same black, block letters on the flap. As with the Machus folder, Edward found a candid shot on the top of the pile. Youngbeck was clearly a member of what was referred to as _'The Quality'_, an aristocratic-looking man in his 40s, with a few grey hairs in his thick black hair, his brown eyes were hooded, and even though he was staring straight into the camera, he had an air of looking _down_ his nose at the viewer.

There was a slight quirk to his lips, and Edward had the feeling, despite his record of non-participation in Parliament, Youngbeck has - _HAD_ a lively sense of humor. The next shot was from his death scene. The same face, but slack and grayish, the eyes cast downwards, but opened fully, yet flat and dull as compared to the previous photograph. Remigius looked rather astonished, like he'd had a moment to look at his fatal wound before he died. Other than a trickle of blood coming from a corner of that now-slack mouth, he looked more alive than Machus had.

The third photo showed Youngbeck's torso, with a large, bloody hole just under the breastbone. Now Edward really did feel rather sick. The size and location of the fatal wound was almost exactly the same as the one he had suffered at the hands - er, hand - of Envy. He looked over at the kitchen where a wall calendar hung. September 26, and Edward also felt cold inside. He'd _'died'_ six years ago to the day.

"Edward? You look ill, are you all right?" Ian hadn't missed the sudden paleness and the expression of dismay on his young colleague's face. Edward started suddenly when Ian's fingers touched his hand, and he gave the spymaster a guilty look before recovering.

"Ummmm... someone very dear to me was killed - no, _murdered_ on this very date."

Ian Bond solved cases by reading the faces and emotions of people, and he instantly knew Edward wasn't telling him the whole truth. He was skating close to the edge, but shying away from something - something _painful_.

Edward quickly flipped to the next photo before he lost his compoure altogether, and this one was of the ornamental sculture. Immediately, Edward knew something was wrong with this picture. The sculpture was in the shape of a styalized globe, made from bent wrought iron, and surmounted by an arrow sticking from it's top. Youngbeck's body was still in place, impaled halfway down the arrow's length. A policeman holding a yardstick was also in the photo, standing next to the globe for size comparison. Edward grabbed the sheaf of reports, shuffling through them until he found the crime scene report. He began reading, occasionally looking from it to the photo.

The globe stood on a low plinth, connected by an iron shaft which connected the globe to the base. The globe stood 8 feet above the ground, and the arrow added another 4 feet. This made the tip of the arrow 12 feet above the ground, and unless Youngbeck's horse had catapulted him that high, it was impossible for him to have been impaled upon that arrow. Edward fished out the forensic report. Hoof prints and marks of torn grass indicated Youngeck's horse had been cantering on a trajectory which would have taken him to the right of the globe. Something had spooked the horse which caused it to bolt to the _left_ prior to reaching the globe.

The bolt had been so sudden, Youngbeck had been flung to the ground at the foot of the plinth. Edward looked at the autopsy photo, Youngbeck's face had scrapes and bruises on it, which hadn't shown up until a few hours after death. Now Edward read the autopsy report. The cause of death was obvious, but something confused him. "Ian, it says here a _'subdural hematoma'_ was found in the back quadrant of the skull, what is that?"

"It's a depressive injury to the skull which causes bleeding between the dura - the membrane protecting the brain from friction with the skull - and the brain itself."

"That doesn't make sense, Ian! If the impaling was the cause of death, how did he get those facial bruises _and_ a subdural hematoma at the back of his skull?"

"It sounds like you are working on a theory, Edward."

"Yeah! I have a theory! I think someone spooked Youngbeck's horse badly enough to make him fall. He was probably an expert horseman, correct?"

Ian nodded, Youngbeck had been on the back of one equine or another since before he could walk.

"So, it would have to have been something which took him totally by surprise - unless he had _'help'_ in getting unseated. Youngbeck was most likely stunned by the force of the fall, which accounts for the scrapes and bruise on his face. The question is, was he struck on the back of the head before or after the fall?"

"This wasn't some tragic accident, Ian, Youngbeck was murdered - and as cruelly as Machus and Comstock were. The expression on his face tells me he regained conscousness for a brief time after he was stuck. Someone wanted him to know he was going to die."

Edward then narrowed his golden eyes and he looked suspiciously at Ian. "You came to the same conclusion already, didn't you?"

"Yes, Edward, I did. But the police have already closed the case and labled it _'death by misadventure'_. I tried telling them they were mistaken, but they didn't want to listen to me, and I don't have the authority to interfere in Londonium Police investigations."

"You couldn't throw your weight around?"

Ian hissed through his teeth. "Intrude on their patch? No, thanks. The police are very territorial sorts, and they don't like us government types stepping on their toes."

It was occuring to Edward how much simpler things were in Amestris. If Mustang had ever wanted to to stick his nose into any police investigation, even one run by the notoriously territorial Central Police, he would. And woe to anyone who got into the Colonel's way, becauseonly the toughest dared go toe-to-toe with Roy. A temperamental teenager from Risembool was one of the few people who did - and lived to tell the tale.

He sighed and pulled over the third folder. In the familiar, bold black lettering was _'Dorothy Woolfe'_. The standard candid shot was on top, and Edward's mind stopped in it's tracks. She was a mature woman in her late 30s - perhaps early 40s. Her hair - her caramel colored hair was cut in a fashionable bob; and her eyes - her wide, golden eyes stared back in challenge to the camera. Edward felt hot and cold at the same time; the shape of her face was very familiar, for he saw it every time he looked in a mirror.

_Damn you old man!_

**Author's note:** I bet some of you are going "what the hey?...". Incas? Lasers? Luminescence? This is what I like so much about playing in the FMA world, neither the anime nor the manga had/have seriously explored beyond the borders of Amestris. So what has happened in other countries in the alchemical world, and even the _names_ of these countries are fair game for my imagination. Whatever you feel about this chapter, please post a review and LMK.


	20. Chapter 20

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, only the OC's I've created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world for awhile.

**Author's note:** It's going to get worse before it gets better. What sort of ruthless people are Edward and Ian dealing with?

Chapter Twenty: In which Edward learns just how many bad things happen to good people Or: Part two of "C.S.I. - Londonium".

He could feel Ian looking at him with concern. "Ian, she - she looks like me - like she could be my sister." Edward's head shot up, his golden eyes blazing. "You BASTARD! You KNEW!You've known all along!" Ian was patient and rode out the storm as Edward ran his fingers through his hair and messed up his braid. Once Edward learned the truth, he would feel a bit silly for blowing up just now.

"Knew what, Edward?"

"The resemblence is so strong, she - she has to be a half-sister. My father used to tell me my mother was the only woman he ever loved. But after he abandoned us, I guess he fell in _like_ with other women." Edward's voice was low and bitter.

"Sorry to burst you angry little bubble, Edward." Ian was careful to keep his tone even and non-gloating. "But Miss Woolfe was almost 20 years your senior, so even if your father sired her, it would have been _before_ he met your mother. But that is neither here nor there, Hohenheim is quite innocent of this." Edward still wouldn't look at Ian, but a reddish flush could be seen spreading up from his shirt collar, because he had just realized he'd said something very foolish.

"Plus, a search of public records revealed her birth certificate, and an interview with her poor mother proves Miss Woolfe's looks came entirely from her side of the family." Ian paused and waited for Edward to look back up, and when he did, the spymaster continued.

"Her mother was an Eldritch. Remember the kidnapped girl from that alchemic family?" Edward nodded. "That was Trinity Eldritch, granddaughter of the current head of the family, Roderic Eldritch."

"How is she doing? You said her confinement nearly drove her insane."

"Her family reports she's recovering nicely, but she's now quite afraid of the dark, and insists on a bright night light turned on before she goes to bed."

Edward worried the corner of the late Dorothy's photograph with a metal finger tip for a few moments before mumbling _Sorry, Ian_ under his breath.

"No offense taken, but - you might not want to look at the next photograph."

Unfortunately, Ian's warning didn't reach Edward's right hand in time, which out of habit, flipped over the candid shot. The image he saw burned into his brain so fast, he couldn't flip the top photo back quickly enough, but the damage was already done. Edward's stomach roiled, and he could feel his lunch trying to come up for air. He clapped his flesh hand over his mouth, then closed his eyes, and tried breathe shallowly, to force everything back down.

When he again opened his eyes, he could still see the afterimage of the crime scene photo. Everything which made Dorothy distinctive - hair, eyes, expression, lips, smile - everything from above the lower jaw had been obliterated in a red mass of pulped flesh and hair. One eyeball had partially escaped the carnage and it peered out from a lake of blood. The lower jaw stood up crookedly from this viscuous mess, most of the teeth either broken in half, or badly cracked.

In a desperate bid to distract his mind, Edward scrabbled for the forensic report, and he forced to himself to carefully read every paragraph from start to finish. Once he had digested (_d'oh! bad choice of words there!_) all the information, Edward flipped the report closed, and he crossed his arms over it before he fixed Ian with a level gaze.

"She was murdered too."

Ian could only nod in agreement. Certain snippets of information he had gleaned from the report ran through Edward's mind.

_"Initial examination of the body revealed the presence of a major laceration extending from the left side of the abdomen, around the left hip, and into the left quadrant of the buttocks. Smaller transverse rips in the skin extended above and below this main tear.'_

Early on in the investigation, the police had been puzzled by this damage to her body until the 'death car' had been found, abandoned and on fire, a mile away from the scene. The car had been _modified _by a person, or persons unknown, who had welded a large hook - a meat hook, to be exact - to the left hand side of the front bumper. Although the metal was badly scorched, the use of luminescence had deteected the presence of blood, and enough had been recovered to match the victim's blood type.

Edward next read the crime scene report. The statements of several witnesses reported this car, a Vauxhall Super Eight Multiple Passenger Taxicab had been idling at a taxi stand for several minutes. One witness, a doorman of a nearby hotel had placed the time at three quarters of an hour; with it's 'not in service' light on. The man remembered because a large party had exited the hotel dining room and they were quite put out when the driver refused their patronage.

When Miss Woolfe began crossing the street (with the light, the report noted), the car abruptly drove away from the stand, (cutting off several other cars) quickly accelerated, and made straight for the unfortunate woman. At the last moment, the driver had leaned on the horn and she had turned to look - then froze. The high bumper of the large car came close enough for the hook to do it's work, piercing the left side of her abdomen; meaning she didn't have time to try to move out of the car's path before she was struck.

She'd been partially carried, and partially dragged by the car (the forensic report had noted her left leg had been denuded of flesh from the knee downwards from friction caused by contact with the macadam surface of Chelsea High Street), for about 150 yards before the cab suddenly swerved further to it's left, and partially into the path of an HGV in the opposite lane. Contact of this vehicle's wheels with Miss Woolfe's head caused the hook to shear completely through the flesh, and the madly swerving cab vanished into traffic.

When found, a check of the cab's badge number said it was registered to Gerald Thompkinson - who hadn't been seen for a week. After the smoldering cab had been towed to the police garage, the techs had taken it to pieces, and the unfortunate Mr. Thompkinson's decomposing body had been found in the trunk; his face nearly obliterated by a gunshot wound. The autopsy report on Miss Woolfe stated she had been alive when the HGV's wheels ended her life, but she had suffered such an extensive list of injuries prior to that, she probably would have died even if she had escaped the head trauma.

_Head trauma_, Edward snorted. _Such innocuous words for what happened to her!_

The cab driver's autopsy report contained fresh horrors. He had been tortured before he died, his body badly bruised and covered with shallow cuts from head to toe, the cause of death was listed as discharge of a large bore handgun at extremely close range. Again, the medical examiner was of the opinion Thompkinson had been alive - barely - at the moment of his death. Edward didn't feel the need to look at the photos of the cab driver, so he just gathered everything up and inelegantly crammed it all back into the folder, then snapped the elastic band around it.

Two more to go. "Edmund Ameche" was written in the same bold black letters as the others, but Edward also noticed "Case Closed" stamped in red letters on the body of the folder.

"Ian, what is this?" Edward was curious, but also half relieved he wouldn't have to look at the crime scene photos of Ameche, who he remembered had his skull crushed by a malfunctioning punch press.

"We have determined Mr. Ameche's death was not murder, but truly an unfortunate accident. It turns out that particular model of the 450 tonne straight side punch press has been getting a reputation as_unreliable_. Ian took the Ameche file from Edward, and tossed it on top of the Woolfe file.

The final folder, marked "Oliver Comstock". Both Edward and Ian stared at it. The folder stared back at them. It wasn't going to read itself, so Edward broke first. "What the hell am I afraid of?" he muttered under his breath as he grabbed the folder, undid the elastic band, and slid it's contents out.

Comstock was quite a good looking fellow. His brown eyes, and short brown hair looked non-descript, but his face was his saving grace. It was open and honest, the gaze direct and full of intelligence. Edward half wished the man hadn't been murdered, Comstock looked like he would have had interesting things to say on the subject of alchemy. In a small way, he reminded Edward of Mustang - if the guiless mug of Kaine Feury had been grafted on under his black eyes.

Ian had said Comstock was an apothecary's assistant. In Amestris, all apothecaries were also alchemists, and they had to show proficiency in alchemy before they were granted their licenses to practice. And that was only after years of study, usually as an apprentice to an established apothecary. He would have to ask if New Britain's licensing regulations for apothecaries were the same.

As usual, the next photo was from the crime scene. Comstock's face was barely recognizable, as it was now much paler, almost pure white, with a bluish tinge about the lips. His hair was plastered down and strewn with seaweed, his eyes were open, but the eyes were gone, and only the empty sockets remained. A rag of an indeterminate color was was stretched between Comstock's lips, which were open in a sort of silent scream. Edward could see the gleam of his teeth, and an odd lump of something which looked torn and bloody.

By now, Edward knew better than to ask Ian what it was, and he automatically flipped past the other crime scene photos to the one taken on the morgue slab. With the seaweed and river borne dirt cleared away, Comstock's face looked even worse. The blue tinge of cyanosis had faded, to be replaced by a gray white pallor, which clearly showed the bruises on his face. The eye lids were closed, but they looked strangely sunken in, and his mouth was still open.

After a moment of closer study, Edward realized that torn and bloody thing in Comstock's mouth was his TONGUE. Knowing he wouldn't get anywhere by quizzing Ian, he consulted the reports, and it was the forensic report which answered his question. _When the tide came in, it brings numerous sea creatures, some of which nibbled away the victim's eye, and part of his tongue._

_NIBBLED?_

Edward's brain sent his stomach an urgent message: _Abandon ship!_

His stomach roiled in response, and finally flipped over.

Edward dropped the report and clamped both hands over his mouth, but shallow breathing wouldn't work this time, he couldn't force it all back. Ian quickly stood up and looked round for something to catch what was coming up. Edward made a frantic sound in his throat to get Ian's attention, then he peeled away one hand, and pointed to his left. There! Next to the nearby phone table, a small metal wastebasket. Ian dashed over and grabbed it, before he shoved it under Edward's face.

Just in time too. The younger man transferred his hands to the side of the basket as his stomach convulsed. Edward shuddered and unclenched his jaw, then gave his all.

That was the scene which met Hetty Ravensworth's eyes when she came into the kitchen with her shopping for her putative employer's supper. There was young Colonel Elric, apparentlythrowing up a lung into a metal wastebasket while Colonel Bond gently patted his back and urged him to 'let it all out.'

Ten minutes later, Edward lay on a sofa in the drawing room, a cool, damp cloth on his forehead, and a glass of lukewarm white soda in one hand; Mrs. Ravensworth had put a straw into the glass so he could drink without having to raise his head too far off the pillow. Noises of disapproval came from the kitchen, where she was chewing out Ian for causing Edward's upset stomach. _It's not his fault, I looked at the photos and read the forensic report!_

He took another swallow of the soda and grimaced, his throat burned and his stomach muscles ached; despite this housekeeper's claim the white soda would ease his nausea, Edward didn't feel like supper at the moment. _This isn't helping_! he growled to himself after another sip, _what I need is some fresh air!_ He set the glass down on a side table next to the sofa, then cautiously sat up, grunting as his muscles protested even the subtle movement.

No nausea, so far, so good. The little private park in the middle of Paddington Square popped up in his mind's eye, he would take a walk around there. It occurred to Edward death had been all around him today, and he'd quite honestly had had enough of it. A little taste of nature would do him good.

Edward stood up slowly and he was relieved to discover his stomach stayed in one place. Digging in his right pants pocket, he found and extracted the ring of three keys which had come with his official orders from the Fuhrer's office. The largest one, of shining steel opened the outer door of his apartment building, a slightly smaller key, also of steel fitted the door to his flat. And the third, a tiny, delicate filigreed thing of brass would open the gate and grant him access to the little park in the center of the square.

**"Colonel Elric!"** Edward jerked reflexively and dropped the keys. He scowled at Mrs. Ravensworth and held one hand to his chest before he bent down to retrieve them. The housekeeper didn't flinch from his glare as she scolded. "You need to lay back down Colonel, and give your stomach more time to settle!" Edward made an exasperated sound deep in his throat.

"I'm feeling much better now, Mrs. Ravensworth," he threw her a dazzling smile to assure her he felt fine. "I just want a little fresh air before supper." He nearly added _stop treating me like a baby!_, but realized in time it sounded rather childish, so he bit it back.

The commotion attracted Ian who drawled, "Going somewheres Edward?" The spymaster sounded relieved Hetty was now yelling at someone else. Edward edged past him to retrieve his coat, which was hanging over a dining room chair.

"Just to that little fenced in park for a pre-prandial walk, care to join me?" Ian could have kissed him, but instead he grabbed his coat with his free hand and tossed it over his shoulders in one continuous move, then bowed his head to Hetty. She was still giving both of them a sour look, so Edward gave her another bright smile before assuring her, "Just one hour Mrs. Ravensworth!"

Then he bolted out the door.

**Author's note**: Whoa! Intense chapter there! Next chapter, Edward and Ian have a strange encounter in the park. (no! not THAT kind of encounter!)

**Note on British terminology:** HGV stands for "Heavy Goods Vehicle". I'm not entirely certain, but I believe it's similar in size to a semi trailer truck.


	21. Chapter 21

**AND ALL MANNER OF THINGS SHALL BE WELL**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, merely the OCs I created for this story. It's just fun to play in their world for awhile.

**Summary:** Fuhrer Roy Mustang has promoted Edward to Colonel, and given him a new mission: go to the country of New Britain and work with their spymaster, Colonel Ian Bond on setting up a similar Secret Service operation in Amestris. After only two days in New Britain, Edward has found adventure and mystery, spiced with five brutal murders, an attempted kidnapping, a capture of dangerous miscreants, and a sampling of New Britain's forensic technology. Now Edward just wants a simple walk in the park so he can clear his head - but of course, nothing is simple here.

**Warnings:** bad language

Chapter Twenty-one: In which Edward has a family reunion - of a sort

Edward's heartbeat thudded rapidly in his ears as he approached the locked gateway to the park. It was heavily wooded, like a little forest in the middle of Londonium. Just inside the gate, a narrow path paved with crushed limestone, and carpeted with fallen leaves led between a small swath of lawn bordered with late fall flowers for a few yards until it disappeared among the trees.

The gate, like the fence was a sturdy wrought iron, decorated with fancy curlicues between the straight pickets, and arrow shaped finials at the top, which were picked out in gold paint. A large metal sign attached to the gate read:

"This park is reserved solely for the use of residents of this square. Trespassing is forbidden."

Edward's little brass key fit smoothly into the lock, he turned it to the right, there was a faint 'click' and the gate opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Edward looked to the left and right before he took a deep breath and, and then one big step inside.

With Ian trailing a few feet behind, he walked slowly up the path, with a big smile on his face; the limestone pebbles crunched loudly under their feet until they got underneath the trees, where their fallen leaves muffled the noise. Edward and Ian kept walking to the center of the park, wherer the parth ran through a small clearing, next to that was a narrow strip of lawn with a bench on it.

Edward sat on one end, and Ian on the other; then both leaned back at nearly the same time, Edward with a sigh, and still smiling. Here in the middle of the park, the bustle of the city seemed a million miles away, and Edward realized he missed the peace and quiet of his little village of Risembool. Silently, he thanked whatever nameless clerk in the Amestrian embassy had arranged his lodgings in Paddington Square. As long as he had this quiet place to retreat to whenever he needed to recharge his inner 'batteries', life here would be made more bearable.

Ian liked the park too, but he was a city boy, born and bred; the country was some place one went to for long weekends - garden parties in the spring and summer, fox hunting in the fall, skating/sledding parties in the winter - but to live in it? No thanks.

"Edward, does this park remind you of someplace?" Ian still noticed the look of contentment, and the smile on Edward's face. He couldn't completely relax like the younger man did, danger was always around the corner in his world so he envied Edward's ability to switch off his internal alarms.

"Yeah..." Edward crossed his ankles, and laced the fingers of his hands behind his head. He wasn't wearing his gloves, and the sight of one real, one metal hand clasping one another was still a bit jarring to Ian. "Robin's Wood, it's a ten mile long patch of woods near my home in Risembool. It was crisscrossed with hiking trails, and full of hidden places to explore. Sometmes families came out to picnic in the Fern Clearing, but it's mostly been a playground for generations of kids. On hot days, it felt just like heaven to sit at the base of a large tree and watch the grass in the fields riffle in the wind."

"What is Risembool like?"

"Almost non-existant actually, it's what we in Amestris like to call 'a wide spot in the road'. Risembool proper is a small village in the south east of the country, about a three day's train ride from Central. It's got a few houses, an inn/restaurant, flower seller, apothecary, general/hardware store, and a platform/ticket booth/waiting room which serves as the train station. Cars are extremely rare here, most people get around by horseback, maybe horse and cart, or by foot."

Edward had begun waving his automail hand around, as if trying to paint a mental picture of Risembool for Ian. "It serves a wide scattering of farms, the Rain River occasionally floods in the spring and fall, makes for rich cropland. There's a few non-farm houses around, when I was growing up, my next door neighbor was an automail mechanic. It's very quiet, but we felt the impact of war, it was on the main route to the Eastern front. Lots of local kids left the village to join the military, and too many came back in pine boxes."

Edward paused, his face darkening, and he said more slowly. "Some never came back at all. When I was young, I remember my mother making huge pots of soup, and baking bread - lots of bread to take to bereaved families. Everybody knows everyone else in villages as small as Risembool, and we took care of our own when there was tragedy."

It was the most Edward had said at one time since he landed in Londonium, and now he fell silent.

"I guess we're lucky here," remarked Ian. "We haven't had any battles since the Wars of the Roses 300 years ago; umm... and - well, there were those skirmishes we had with our eastern colonies in Meso America some 140 years ago. And problems with New Caledonian, Eireian, and Cymruian nationalists, but that died down once they got their independence. Other than that, we've largely been at peace."

Edward pulled out his silver pocket watch and looked at it. "It's been nearly an hour, Ian, guess it's time to rejoin civilization before it gets too dark to find our way out of here." A wind kicked up high in the trees as he started to rise to his feet, and Ian made as if to follow, but he suddenly felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

He started to leap to his feet, but a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and slammed him back onto the bench. Ian looked to his right to see Edward, sitting very still and glaring at nothing in particular. Probably because the business end of a silencer screwed onto a dark colored revolver was pressed against his neck. Now Ian felt something cold and metallic against his neck too, and he relaxed back against the hard wooden back of the bench.

_Idiot!_ his ego scolded. _Nothing to do but wait._

Footsteps crunched on the path and a tall, thin man with caramel colored hair, cut very short, and a goatee approached Ian. A brief ghost of a smile flitted across his hollow cheeks. "Please sit still, Colonel Bond, this will take only a few minutes."

He turned to his left and walked the few steps over to Edward, then knelt in front of him and smiled, a genuine smile this time. Edward looked plainly astonished, his eyes wide and lips parted in a gape of surprise. His jaw dropped even lower when the man said to him, "Greetings, little brother."

**"Rudolfus!"** Edward gasped in reply, and it was the turn of the older man to be surprised. He rocked back onto his heels and narrowed his golden eyes in a match for Edward's previous glare.

"You know who I am? How? **Tell me!**" His right hand shot out and it took Edward's jaw in a hard grip, the younger man growled in pain and tried to yank his face away.

Rudolfus growled back. "If we were in Drachman, I would have the right to beat you for your insolence, little brother!"

"And I'd kick your ass if you tried." Edward bared his teeth and spat back, and the man behind cuffed him sharply on the back of his head. When Edward tried to twist around and see, the man grabbed his right shoulder and yanked him back against the bench.

Rudolfus had released his hold, and he chuckled, a low, dark sound which showed he was still somewhat displeased. "Amestrians, and New British coddle their children, no wonder they grow up to be so willful. I had warned Roderic, if he'd not been so lenient with Trinity, she would not have been taken by those damn christians!"

Rubbing his sore jaw, Edward peeled one golden eye back to the men behind, who still held guns to his and Ian's necks. "Call off your dogs, and I'll tell you." Rudolfus seemed to consider his request for a moment before he nodded, a silent order snapped in his eyes, and the men stepped back.

"I met your wife, Tola, in the other world, the machine world," Edward muttered. "It's a horrible place beyond the Gate, because there is no alchemy, no way to get back home - unless you are lucky."

"When was this?"

"In a city called London, because time moves faster on the other side of the Gate, it was 1922 there, but only 1917 here. Our meeting, was not - how you say - friendly."

For a moment, Ian couldn't understand why Edward looked so uncomfortable as he said this, instead of looking directly at Rudolfus, he was staring at the ground, his eyes narrowed. Then Ian remembered the argument the brothers had back at the science building: _No, brother, NO! It's too painful!_

Rudolfus swallowed hard, and he asked "Was - was she well?"

Edward shrugged. "She was the last time I saw her, her brother was holding her - protecting her."

"Ryos was always very watchful over Tola, but he was the older brother and sworn to protect her from the day of her birth. The night before they went to the other world, he came to me and swore to not only protect Tola with his very life, but also to try and bring her back safely. He'd even drawn up his promise in writing, and in my presence, he sliced his finger and put his blood seal upon the document."

_Blood_.

It then ocurred to Edward blood had played a prominent part in his life. His blood spilled on the floor of his father's study during the failed transmutation, his blood on the seal used to keep Alphonse's soul bound to this plane; the blood of so many innocent people spilled - Nina Tucker, Maes Hughes, the chimeras, those prisoners in Lab 5, the Ishbalans, the citizens of Lior, soldiers who were only following orders issued by their superiors, Alfons Heidreich, Noa... And finally, his blood again, spreading on the floor of the opera house of the underground city. Even the homunculi, in some small way, the red stones which sustained them were a type of blood.

_Blood. Sweat. Tears._

"You brood like our father did." Rudolfus still sat back upon his heels, and his expression had softened somewhat. Not exactly a smile, but not really a frown either. His face strongly resembled Hohenheim's, who would look at him with a similar expression of loving exasperation on his face in those difficult early days after Edward's first physical trip through the Gate. Hohenheim was trying to make amends for his abandoning of them, trying to be a father, but Edward, who was in physical pain, often ill, and otherwise homesick didn't want any part of it.

_We made each other miserable. Father, I - I'm sorry._ His throat tightened.

"Rudolfus, now I've answered your question, now I need you to answer one of mine, is that fair enough? His half brother considered for a moment, then his eyes flickered to the men still standing a few feet behind the bench. He nodded another silent signal and both men holstered their guns, Edward could hear the sound of metal sliding into leather, a familiar sound from the old days. He often heard it after Riza Hawkeye had made some kind of ballistic point, usually at the bastard Colonel who needed extra prodding to do his paperwork.

Only after he heard that sound did Edward realize he'd been holding his body very still, and he released the breath he had been holding in with a 'woosh'. "Rudolfus, before I left Amestris, I'd been given letters of introduction to six people. Last night, I discovered five of them are now dead, and today we...," he indcated Ian with a wave of his left hand. "Narrowed the causes to one tragic accident, but four rather brutal murders. Were you responsible for those?"

Rudolfus made a small 'moue' and shook his head. "Neither I, nor those loyal to me have killed anyone here, except in self defense. But I would like to know, how did they die?"

"The first was stunned with a blow to the head, then strung up and allowed to strangle to death. The second was knocked off his horse before he was impaled on the sharp point of an ornamental sculpture; the third was struck and dragged by a hook welded to a car, until her head was crushed by an oncoming lorry, and the last, he was beaten, then left to drown in the River Thamar when the tide came in. Someone arranged it so all four were alive at the times of their deaths so they would suffer as much as possible."

Rudolfus bowed his head and stared at the ground, and he suddenly looked very old. Edward could see a few strands of grey at his temples when he whispered "Eothen, and Bersan."

"Pardon?"

"Eothen, the younger brother of Mathun, he was another uncle to Ryos and Tola. Bersan is the nephew of Conner, the 'enforcer' who the triumvirate sent to the other - the machine - world. Eothen is the brains, Bersan is the brawn."

"Can you describe them?" A ball of ice started to form in Edward's stomach, if his description matched, he knew where Eothen was: on a slab in the Central Londonium Morgue.

"Eothen resembled Mathun only superficially, he was the elder brother, but not quite as tall, he was weak of chin, and a bit paunchy after he reached adulthood. Although he was older, he was less robust than Mathun, and less - stable."

The ball of ice grew larger. "Define 'less stable', Rufolfus."

He sighed. "How can I say this best? Eothen - enjoyed - hurting other living beings. As a child, he pulled the wings off flies, and burned ants with a magnifying glass. When he got a little older, he killed birds with a homemade electric fence, strangled rabbits with a snare made of barbed wire, and roasted puppies and kittens alive. On one occasion, his father caught him branding a mentally handicapped child who lived down the lane. Once he reached the age of 'reason' - sixteen- the triumvirate came calling, they wanted to make use of his particular 'skills'. For then, he moved on to people, and for a while, our father was one of his captives, he was the only one I know of who got away. Those killings you describe sound like his work."

Edward blew a long, shaky sigh, and trembled. Mistaking his sigh of relief for fear, Rudolfus put one hand on the younger man's knee. "He is _extremely_ dangeous, Edward, he is filled with hatred - for our father, for me, and for you in particular, and all Amestrines in general. Be very cautious."

Edward flashed him a weak smile in return. _That bastard touched my little brother!_ "Rudolfus, Eothen was on the ferry from Bourbon yesterday." The older man gasped in horror. "I don't know why he didn't attack me there, maybe he didn't have an opportunity. After the ferry docked, he made one final attempt, while he was going down the gangplank, he knocked my little brother into the Thamar."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Rudolfus's severe expression pale a bit. "You have a brother?" Edward stared back in surprise. _If Rudolfus knows about me, how could he not know about Alphonse?_

"Yes, I do. His name is Alphonse, he is six years younger than I, and he's going to college here in Londonium. I jumped in after him and held his head above water until we both were rescued. Eothen disappeared in all the commotion, but last night, he and another man - probably Bersan - attacked Colonel Bond and tried to kill him."

"I see they failed to do so" Rodulfus commented dryly.

And Ian drawled back, just as drily. "But I didn't fail to kill him."

Rudolfus managed another brief look of astonishment before his normal features reasserted themselves, but Ian heard a light gasp from the man a few feet behind him.

"He's laying on a slab in the Central Londonium Morgue right now, would you like to go see? I can pull some strings if you would really like to."

Rudolfus shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Just thinking of seeing his face gives me the cold shivers. But, what of Bersan?"

"Wounded, but not fatally, but I think badly enough to put him out of commission for a few days." Ian was back in control of the situation, and he delftly began to question Rudolfus without appearing to do so. "Now, Mr. Rufofus, how did you manage to get here, and what is your purpose?"

"The trimvirate usually keeps it's state alchemists on very tight leashes, but I managed to slip mine and flee Drachma two years ago. We made a false trail over the Briggs Mountains in order to fool the triumvirate's dogs into believing we'd gone south - to Amestris. My two half-brothers, Rhadamanthus, and Sysonby came with me, they are completely loyal and they loathe Eothen just as much as I do. As regards a purpose, I have none - but to finally live free."

Ian asked his next question. "What do you believe was the purpose of Eothen and Bersan?"

"The triumvirate probably doesn't like the idea of Amestris being at peace and making allies, I think they preferred it when the country was beset by enemies on all sides. Eothen, and Bersan - and I am sure others as well were sent here to cause trouble, to re-open the rift between your country and Amestris."

Far in the distance, a banging sound of metal on metal was heard, followed by running footsteps, crunching on the limestone path, then the beans of flashlights could be seen.

"We must be away, farewell little brother, I will contact you again - soon."

In one fluid motion, Rudolfus rose back to his feet, and crossed behind the bench, both Ian and Edward twisted around just in time to see the trio melt away into the trees.

An instant later, six men in trenchcoats burst into the clearing, each one held a flashlight in one hand, and a pistol in the other.

"Colonel Bond!" called their leader. "Are you all right? Mother Hen became concerned when you didn't check in!"

Ian cursed under his breath. 'Mother Hen' was the service's code word for Herry, and she'd called 'the cavalry' when the hour was up, and her 'boys' hadn't come home for dinner. All he'd needed was a few more minutes with Rudolfus, the man seemed eager to talk to someone. A Drachman deserter from the secretive country's state alchemist program in their country, and hiding so thoroughly not even the Secret Service knew about it? That was not only big news - but also a little embarassing. He would have to go to headquarters and report this to 'X', and...

A mild commotion to his right jarred him out of his thoughts, four of the agents had surrounded Edward and they were pointing their pistols at him. Edward was glaring again, but slowly raising his hands.

"Stand down!" Ian barked. "Colonel Elric is with me!" The pistols disappeared like smoke and the agents briskly backed up, like it had been their idea all along. His face flushed red in a flashlight beam, Edward dropped his hands before shoving them into the pockets of his coat. He wasn't wearing his white gloves, and a couple of the agents had been staring, with fascinated glances at his automail hand.

"Ian?" he asked very quietly, making the question sound like a threat. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Sorry, Edward." Ian was apolegetic, and nearly apoplectic. Oh, once he got to headquarters, he was going to have someone's guts for garters. "Some sort of a communications cock-up and the 'cavalry' was called out."

Wait a minute. _What am I apologizing to Edward for!_ How did he know this man's name? Or met his wife? More to the point, what was this 'machine world' he was talking about? Elric had a _lot_ of explaining to do, objections from Alphonse, or not, he had a right to know if this was important. But right now, he was too tired and hungry to interrogate him. "Listen you lot, go back to headquarters and I'll debrief you later."

The lead agent - Peel was his name - saluted, then shook his head. "Sorry sir, we can't do that. Once the cavalry is activated, our duty is to stay with you and and accompany you back to headquarters."

Not for the first time did Ian regret being so important to the running of the Secret Service, it was like being wrapped in endless layers of cotton wool. As simply Agent Bond, an eager 19 year old recruit, he'd gotten into all sorts of scrapes and had been expected to get himself out of them without any expectation of rescue. It had made him the agent he was today - tough, 'street wise', calculating, and able to think fast under pressure.

Nothing he could do to fight it, Agent Peel and the rest would stick to him like glue until he came back to headquarters. Bur first, he would see what Hetty had made for dinner - he was starving.

Dinner was a spinach salad with balsamic vinegar dressing, followed by pot roast and fluffy mashed potatoes covered in a rich gravy, and a medley of peas with sliced carrots. Hetty gave the six extra agents sandwiches made from the left over roast beef from last night. She liked to feed people, and there was no way Colonel Elric could eat all the leftovers - despite his bottomless stomach.

After the events of the past hour, a gun pressed against his neck, a half-brother he thought he'd never see, and a recitation of Eothen's 'accomplishments', Edward shouldn't have any appetite at all. His stomach had stayed quiet until the group entered his flat when delicious food odors reached his nose and made it twitch, which caused his innards to rumble to hungry life.

At the corners of his vision, Edward could see Bond's agents exchange shocked glances at the amount of food he put away; as he 'inhaled' his third full plate, Ian leaned over and whispered loudly "Edward, you're going to make yourself sick again!"

"It's O.K., Ian! I've got an iron stomach!"

"I've got to go back to headquarters tonight, but I shall see you bright and early tomorrow morning, we have to talk."

Edward shook his head while still actively chewing. "Na widdout Ah!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, didn't your mother teach you that?" Ian grumbled sourly in reply. He was still on his first plate, but it was only half eaten, and now he was just morosely pushing his food around, piling it into pyramids, circles, and squares. Knowing his attackers were Drachmans explained a lot, but still too many questions were left. Were Edwards contacts murdered because they had something Eothen wanted, or did they refuse to do something for him, or was it simply because Edward was from Amestris, their long sworn enemy?

A few hours later, the apartment was quiet, after first discussing tomorrow's menu with him, even Hetty had gone home. Changed to a long-sleeved sweater and linen drawstring pants, Edward lounged on the sofa in the drawing rooms, hands laced behind his head. Tomorrow, he would _definately_ visit his country's embassy, plus drop in on that group of amateur alchemists. Ian wasn't an alchemist, so he doubted they had opened up to him, but maybe, just maybe, they would talk to the Full Metal. He would also need to make a phone call to Roy and bring him up to speed on the activities of their 'neighbors' up to the north, the Fuhrer should know the Drachmans were secretly acting in bad faith again. Perhaps Edward could find a secure line at the embassy, he didn't have faith in his phone here at the apartment, because in the back of his mind was a niggling little thought suggesting he not entirely trust Colonel Ian Bond.

**Author's note:** Props to anyone who can spot the obscure sports references in this chapter. Next chapter, we go back to 1922 London to explore what happened after the brothers escaped their kidnappers.

**Author's note #2: **I apologize for the delay in updating, but I had to visit my brother's new house in Williams Bay for the weekend; got back Sunday evening but the site was down due to some power glitch. What I SHOULD have done was uploaded this chapter before leaving (his computer doesn't have a floppy slot) and then published it on Saturday. Ah well, enjoy anyhow.

**#3** I made a half dozen attempts to inset lines so the action wouldn't all run together, but these particular changes don't seem to be showing up. Dagnabbit!


	22. Chapter 22

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own FMA, but I do own any OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in this world for awhile.

**Warning:** A bit of mild cussing, plus over use of sugar.

**Props: ** to Sarif (author of "Fire And Light: A Sequel To Conqueror of Shambala") who did some beta-ing and attempted to correct my awkward prose. TY!

Chapter Twenty-two - In which Alphonse tells a story

"Fear lent wings to his feet" may sound like a cliche, but fervently believed in it's truth in this instance. For once he took to his heels in the courtyard behind the abandoned building, he didn't stop running and neither did Alphonse, and they pounded up the alley for all they were worth. Only Ryos bothered to take up the chase, but the brothers had such a head start, he soon gave up. Or maybe Mathun called him back, because they had a car and easily would be able to catch up to the Elrics.. The knowledge of this made the fine hairs on the back of Edward's neck prickle, and he ran even faster.

Edward paused at the alley's mouth only long enough to check for oncoming traffic before he plunged across the street, and into the mouth of another alley. He didn't yell back to Alphonse - better to save his breath for flight - nor did Alphonse call back to him because he'd probably reached the same conclusion. The only sounds were their loud breathing, and their pounding footsteps, which were sometimes sloshing through water puddles, or squelching in mud. Occasionally, the yowls of disturbed cats, and the rattles of ash can lids as the animals skittered away, hissing, would startle the boys and briefly break their strides.

The alleys gradually became more twisted, and foul smelling from the stench of garbage overflowing ash cans, or simply dumped in haphazard piles. Even the mud began to smell so bad Edward doubted it was simply wet dirt they were stepping in; the cobblestones of these older alleys were paved with became ankle twisting treacherous, they shone wet with water, or something less salubrious. So once they reached the end of - Edward had lost count of how many alleys they'd run down - at the end of the umpteenth alley, he made a sharp right turn and raced up the sidewalk of some unknown street.

He didn't know it's name, and he didn't care, for all he knew, they could have been running in circles and could even be back in the neighborhood where he had been held in that locked room of that abandoned building.

Edward's breath wheezed in his ears, his lungs burned, and so did his leg muscles, particularly those of his left leg. The thigh was getting extremely sore from the pounding it was taking from his metal prosthetic, which was slightly shorter than his right leg. The sidewalk was also uneven, he tripped on one tilted slab and madly pinwheeled his arms to stay on his feet, Edward succeeded in staying up, but Alphonse wasn't so lucky. A strangled cry and a loud thud told him his little brother had fallen, and fallen hard.

He had to stop and help Al, but his momentum carried him several yards away, where he leaned over, gasping in great lungfuls of the foul London air. It smelled of salt, dirty water, coal, and tar, they must be very close to the Thames, perhaps only a block away. Edward's legs trembled from his exertions, he hadn't had to run so far and so fast for a few years now, not since the day he and Al had fled from Lior back to Risembool.

He was also sweating profusely, it ran down his face into his eyes, stinging them, and he could feel more sweat drops rolling down his spine. Edward was sure after two days of wearing the same clothes, and being unable to bathe, he probably smelled, and possibly even _stunk_. Once he got home, he had a strong urge to strip off his clothes and take a long - possibly for a few hours - hot bath.

_Home_, he thought in despair. _We can't go home, they must know where we live, they will be waiting for us. _The thought of being held down and stuck with a needle again made his stomach twist into knots. Despite his struggles, Edward had been almost completely helpless, and he hated that feeling.

Halting footsteps approached him, Edward turned left to see Alphonse limping closer. He was also breathing heavily, his face red with sweat and exertion. Although fitter from endless games of soccer with his friends, he hadn't run so far at one stretch. Al leaned against the same building Edward leaned against, slightly bent over, hands on his thighs.

"Brother," he whined. "I can't - can't run any - more, can we stop?"

"Su - sure." Edward gasped back.

The street they found themselves on was unfamiliar, because there was so much of London the brothers hadn't explored yet, and they were completely lost. It was a very old street, narrow, and slightly twisted; and lined by old soot-stained buildings, with the odd stuccoed front speckled in between. The street was quiet, it's silence broken only by the occasional car rattling by.

Edward's breathing was finally slowing down when he heard a sound which made his skin prickle anew with 'goose flesh': the smooth purring of a well-tuned car motor. Edward had first heard that sound on the night he was kidnapped; it was on the next street over, so Mathun and his gang must be searching for them. Panic gripped him, which made his heart rate and respiration speed up again.

"Al!" He grabbed his little brother's arm and spoke urgently. "They're looking for us, we have to find someplace to hide!"

Dragging a limping Alphonse behind him, Edward started walking fast up the street, looking for a good hiding place. But all the doorways were either flush with the building facades, or too shallow for concealment. He started to jog, while he frantically looked left and right. The motor sound had faded briefly, but it wouldn't be long before it made the turn into this street. Edward was starting to feel a little hysterical with desperation when he finally saw the 'cafe' sign straight ahead, the door was up a short flight of three stone steps and he pulled so hard, Al was practically carried up the three stairs behind him.

Edward shoved the door open with great force and he tugged Al over the threshold so fast, they were in the middle of the dining area before the door shut with a jangle. The room was long and narrow, the linoleum floor, and the papered walls looked a bit shabby, but clean and smelling faintly of bleach. The few tables scattered about were covered with brilliantly white and starched cloths, topped by white linen napkins which were held down by gleaming silverware.

"Brother!" Al protested again. "You're hurting me! Stop pulling so hard!"

But Edward didn't stop until he was nearly to the rear wall of the cafe, where there were some high-backed booths which were tucked along the back wall. There he bundled Al into one seat before gratefully slipping into the one opposite him. His view of the front show window of the cafe was obscured by the tables, which meant - he hoped - any passerby on the street outside wouldn't be able to see deeply into the cafe. The purr of a car motor came closer and Edward pressed himself into the back of his seat and closed his eyes. With his eyes still closed, he pulled off his coat and folded it onto the booth seat next to him.

Edward blew a large sigh of relief and smiled when the sound faded; but his smile was instantly wiped away when he opened his eyes and looked over at Al. His dark brown eyes seemed even darker than usual, and so wide with fear they seemed to take up most of his face. He leaned over the table and clutched Edward's left hand with both of his.

"Brother! You look scared, who _were_ those people, what were you doing with -?"

"SHHH!" Edward ordered, holding up his right hand for silence, a waitress was approaching with two menus in her hand.

"'Allo, ducks!" she sang out. "You two 'ere for tea?"

Edward smiled and nodded gratefully. "Yes, please."

She handed them the menus anyways, and Edward anxiously scanned his before slumping with relief. This was obviously a workingman's cafe, and the reasonable prices reflected this, they would be able to afford to eat here - unless...

He dropped the menu on the table and dug into one of the hidden pockets he'd sewn inside his oversize brown coat where he felt a familiar lump, small but still there. He took out his wallet and scanned the contents.

As an agnostic, he didn't thank God - nor any gods - but he silently breathed a prayer of thanks anyways to whichever deity watched over hungry teenagers. He would have enough money to pay for whatever they ate - and leave a decent tip. But his blonde brows knit when he looked at the one pocket which had a cellophane front - they had taken his identity card!

_Bastards!_

Edward replaced the wallet, then dug into the other hidden pocket - his notebook was still there, but the pages had been flipped back to the last entry. For some unknown reason, the knowledge his household accounts and job history had been looked at perturbed him. He put the notebook back, and finally looked into a small, deep pocket he had made to hold his apartment key. It was gone. Someone - probably Mathun - had searched his pockets while he was unconscious.

"Brother!" Alphonse whined again, he was still upset by the morning's events, nor did he like being ignored while Edward rummaged through his stupid coat. But he couldn't say anything else because the waitress was approaching again with a square silver tray containing a round brown pot which had a blue quilted cover over it, two cups with saucers and spoons, a small pot of cream, and a silver bowl mounded high with lumps of sugar.

"Thank you." Edward smiled as tshe unloaded the contents of the tray onto the table between him and his brother, before pulling an order pad and a pencil from a pocket of her uniform. With a guilty start, Edward realized he hadn't looked at the menu, neither of them had. He snatched up one of the pieces of laminated pasteboard up and scanned it quickly.

The first item was _bangers and mash_ - sausages and mashed potatoes. Simple, cheap, greasy, and filling fare. Comfort food for two boys who'd had a unpleasant morning.

"Two bangers and mash, please, thanks. That's all." The waitress made some shorthand notations on the pad, retrieved the menus Edward handed her, then turned away and went through a pair of swinging doors to the kitchen to put their orders in.

"Brother." Alphonse said again, and Edward jerked slightly. His little brother sounded calmer now, and Edward felt guilty for ordering for him. Perhaps Al would have preferred something else. Shepherd's pie maybe? No. Just the thought of it made him feel a bit nauseous.

"Sorry Al, I hope you like bangers and mash."

"I like it fine, brother, but how can you think of eating at a time -?"

At the mention of the word "eating", Edward's stomach rumbled loudly. Without looking at Al, he began fumbling with the tea things.

"Because I haven't eaten since Tuesday afternoon, Al. I had only a little water" - he removed the cozy from the teapot and began pouring into the cups - "and I had to get that myself. Now, one lump, or two? I suggest three, maybe even four, we've both had a shock to our systems."

Al took his heavily sugared cup and set it down quickly because it was rattling on the saucer, before he picked up the creamer and added a generous dollop to his tea. Edward made a face at that, he still despised any and all dairy products. He put three lumps of sugar into his tea, and stopped to think a moment before plopping two more in and stirring it several times.

They both sipped at the same time, Al sighed quietly with pleasure for the tea was hot and fragrant, but Edward made a face at the taste of his. _Overdid it on the sugar._ He still forced himself to take another sip because the heat of the tea was soothing to his parched throat. When he set the cup down on it's saucer, it barely shook.

"You first, Al. Tell me what happened after you left me at the pub."

Al put his own cup down, he felt a little calmer now, brother was right about the sugar. "Well, I was concerned when I came back when it got dark and you weren't there; but I guessed you had been delayed for some reason. Maybe you'd met someone you knew from your first time in London, and you'd lost track of time."

Edward chuckled darkly. "I don't know _anyone_ in London I'd want to speak to badly enough I'd lose track of time. None of our father's old friends would recognize the last name we are using now."

Alphonse picked up his cup and took another sip, and Edward noticed he was smiling at him. "What's so funny, Al?"

"What if you'd met someone who wanted to talk about alchemy, brother? You'd happily jabber away for an entire week!"

"No Al, I wouldn't."

"Yes brother, you WOULD!"

"Wouldn't."

"Would."

"Wouldn't!"

"Am I interrupting something, ducks?"

"Uh..." Edward stammered, Al was blushing, and he was sure his face was red too. "Sorry...nothing important - um, is that our food? It smells wonderful."

The waitress smiled fondly at both of them as she set the two steaming plates heaped with food in front of each boy. Both were acting oddly, but as long as they paid their bill, and didn't stiff her on the tip, she stayed out of the customer's business.

"Thank you." Both muttered softly, so she gave them another tired smile before turning away to go back into the kitchen. The bangers and mash were too hot to eat yet, so Edward gave Al his full attention. "Go on Al, what happened?"

"Lessee, um - I waited an hour and when you still weren't home, I went down and talked to our landlady."

"And what did Mrs. Doyle say?"

"She told me you were a big boy and could look after yourself. She was of the opinion you had met a pretty girl at the pub and were probably with her, having something called a 'slap and tickle', whatever that means."

Edward smiled to himself. Mrs. Doyle _would_ say something like that. She never missed a change to tell Edward he was too thin, his hair was too long, and he was too solitary, plus he ought to visit a brothel once a week because he was old enough to be having sex on a regular basis. "It tisn't healthy for a man to live like a monk, Mr. Smith-Jones!" was the standard lecture. And to Edward's shock, Mrs. Doyle went go on to actually recommend one - she was acquainted with the owner - "a grand lady, simply grand" who ran a "clean" house.

"Brother?" Al had a question to ask, and Edward was the best person to go to, because he usually answered them, no matter how strange. Edward tested his food - still too hot, but almost cool enough.

"What is it?"

"Um, what's a 'slap and tickle'? Edward blushed to the tips of his ears. Al was only 13, oh, a precocious 13 because his mind was really 18; but Edward still thought of him as too young to know about sex.

"I'll tell you when you're older", he teased.

"It's about sex, isn't it?" Edward started, then relaxing, he smiled and nodded. But Al wouldn't be put off. "How much older, brother?"

It was time for him to distract Al from a subject which would just lead Edward into more verbal quicksand, and more difficult (and potentially embarassing) questions. Despite growing up so fast, Edward had next to no knowledge about sex, and even less experience than that. The closest he had been was that night in Aquaroya when he _accidentally_ groped Psiren's left breast. Just thinking about it gave him the cold shivers for some years. If things had turned out differently, he suspected the Bastard Colonel would have given him and Al "the talk", or he would have ordered someone else to do it.

He doubted Falman or Breda could have done it - one would be too dignified, the other too crude. Feury or Havoc? Kain was in his 20s, but he looked too innocent to even know the meaning of the word "sex", and Havoc - he was probably a virgin too. Armstrong? _Horrors!_ Edward could just imagine the Strong Arm Alchemist bragging something on the lines of "the sexual prowess of the men of this line has been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations!" A soft snicker escaped his lips at the thought.

How about Hawkeye? No, she would shoot Mustang first if he even _dared_ to suggest it, heck, he would most likely make history as the first man to gelded by a 9mm pistol. Which left Brosh and Ross as the best candidates for the job. They had been Al and his bodyguards - _oh let's be honest, our babysitters _during the Scar incident, and it had been the maternal Maria Ross who had fearlessly gone up to embrace him in Lab 5 when he suffered that alchemic rebound. He wondered if those two had ever advanced beyond partnered to married, Brosh was slightly scatterbrained, which made the more clearheaded Ross a good match for him. Still, a talk from them on "the birds and the bees" would have been just short of a disaster because the fifteen year old Edward had been, to put it bluntly - _prudish_.

Alphonse smirked at the silly grin on Edward's face. He waved his right hand, "Brotherrrr? Helloooo?" Edward jerked back to the present day he felt rather out of sync going suddenly to fantasizing from what might have been back to reality. What had he been doing? Oh, right, distracting Alphonse.

"Al, what did you do next?"

"What _could_ I do brother? I went back upstairs and did my homework while I waited another hour. When you weren't home by then, I fixed myself a bread and cheese sandwich, then sat up and read until I feel asleep on the sofa."

Al tested the pototoes, and finding them cool enough to eat, he grabbed a bottle of ketchup which stood sentinel next to smaller bottles of salt and pepper on the table. After uncapping the bottle, he proceeded to drown his food in the red sauce. Edward first grimaced at that sight, and then again when his little brother began to tuck into his unusual breakfast. After a few forkfuls, Al looked up, ketchup smeared on and around his mouth as he masticated vigorously.

He swallowed, then picked up his teacup and guzzled noisily almost to the dregs. Without a word, Edward first pointed to his own face, then to the linen napkin next to Al's plate. Al obediently wiped his mouth, then he grinned at Edward, the napkin crumpled in his left hand. "Brother, if you keep pulling faces like that, it'll freeze in that position."

_You little brat._

Al pointed at Edward's plate of cooling food, and gave him an innocent smile. "You gonna eat that, brother?"

Edward responded with a mock growl, grabbed his fork and stuffed a large portion of potatoes into his mouth. They were still hot - but also tasteless. He grimaced again, then chewed and swallowed hastily. "Al, pass the salt and pepper please?"

Edward lightly salted, but liberally peppered the potatoes, which resulted in some getting up his nose and causing him to sneeze several times. He patted the pockets of his coat laying next to him, until he located his handkerchief and blew his nose. After replacing it, he said "I hope you didn't skip school to look for me."

"I wanted to brother, I planned to leave during the lunch break, but the damned truant officer caught me just as I turned onto our street!"

"Language, Al." Edward warned. The waitress had come back with a fresh pot of tea and she was frowning at Alphonse, she must have heard his outburst. Edward gave her a rueful smile, and she reponded with a smile of her own, but it slipped when she looked at Alphonse, who had the grace to finally paste on an abashed expression. She took the almost empty pot away, and once they were alone again, Edward stretched out one hand, palm uppermost, and wiggled his fingers. "OK, Al, go on."

"I got away with claiming you were ill and in bed and I was going to check on you; he nearly didn't believe me, but your employer came by just then."

Edward worked for the Tucker Employment Bureau, which was owned by one Stanley Tucker, this world's alter of the insane alchemist Shou Tucker. His resemblence to the latter man had unnerved Edward at first, for not only was Stanley the spitting image of Shou, the timbre and pitch of his voice were exactly the same. The resemblence stretched even to mannerisms, a daughter named Nina, and his dog, also named Alexander. The only differences being Stanley wasn't insane - and his wife was quite alive. Edward had barely become adapted to Stanley when Alphonse met the man and was thoroughly spooked by the genial and somewhat paternal fellow. But it had never occured to Edward that Tucker's concern for his employees extended to visiting sick ones.

"And what did he say?"

"You were supposed to start a job tutoring someone's son yesterday?"

"Yeah." Edward muttered and nodded as he stabbed some pototoes and a piece of sausage in a desultory manner. "I've probably lost that one."

His appetite ebbed away and Edward looked at the greasy mass on his fork without enthusiasm, but he opened his mouth and ate it anyways. He was still hungry and would be able to think better on a full stomach.

"Actually brother, when I said you were ill, he said the job would still be open. He would explain the situation to the viscount, and if you don't mind travelling..."

"Travelling? Where to?"

"This client, ummm..." Alphonse scrunched his eyes as he searched his memory. "What's his name, Viscount - Something - Or - Other...?"

"Viscount Burnlae."

"Yessss, well, he has an estate near Oxford and he wants you to come there and do the tutoring. You would receive room and board, plus a salary for three or four months."

_Three or four months!_ Edward had not known what to do after they left the cafe. Mathun and his gang knew where they lived, and if his key was gone, they probably had that too. His biggest worry - besides being recaptured by the Drachmans - was losing out on more work due to missing one job assignment. They already lived from paycheck to paycheck, but a few months away from London could be just what they needed to throw the Drachmans off their trail; plus basic living expenses would be covered. There was only one problem...

"I can't leave you here all alone for four months, Al, mo matter how well I'm paid." Edward said this with his mouth full as his briefly lifted spirits had caused him to quickly shovel in anothe forkful of food.

"Mr. Tucker said the Viscount had agreed you could bring me along; there is a school in the village near to the estate I can attend." The rather sour look which flitted across Al's face told more than words ever could what he thought of that.

"Finish eating Al, before it gets cold." Edward urged. The bangers and mash were cooling, the grease congealing, and it was becoming less appetizing as a result. He topped up their cups with fresh hot tea before he went back to eating. Once his plate was empty, he pushed it to the side and pulled his cup in front of him, holding it so the warmth of the tea penetrated through the glove to his left hand.

"Did Tucker ask to see me?"

"No brother, and neither did the truant officer. He was suspicious, but he let me off with a warning to go right back to school after lunch." All this talking had made Al thirsty, and he slurped his cup almost to the dregs again. Edward picked up the pot and refilled it, then set the pot down and out of the way, and waited for his little brother to continue.

"So I went upstairs and fixed myself a cheese and pickle sandwich." This statement drew a slight _moue_ and raised eyebrows from Edward. "I stayed long enough - in case Truant Officer Pertwee was still watching - to make him believe I was making lunch for you. After cleaning up in the kitchen, I headed back for school."

The waitres came back to collect their plates, and for the first time, Edward actually noticed her. Her nameplate said "Marie", and close up, she was much older than he'd first thought. Deep furrows ran from the side of her nose to her mouth, and from the corners of her eyes to her hairline; plus deep horizontal lines scored her forehead, and vertical lines ran between her eyes. Her red lipstick was gnawed away in spots, and bled into innumerable fine lines around her mouth, and her limp brown hair was streaked with grey and smelled of tobacco.

She obviously was a smoker, perhaps a heavy one. Her teeth and even the tips of her fingers were yellowed, smoke had dulled her complexion to a pasty white and her breath smelled of - Dunhills - he guessed. Her hands were small, with long, ringless fingers, but the delicate effect was spoiled by the nails being bitten short, and rather raggedly too. Marie looked tired, as if she'd been on her feet too long and on too little sleep too. Edward decided to tip her more generously than he'd planned. Like him, she was just another soul struggling to get by.

"More tea, ducks?" Edward looked over at Al, who shook his head.

"We're fine, thank you." He said it with a false bright smile and she gave the smile back to him in spades. Every word she spoke fouled the air and Edward had to steel himself not to screw up his face in reaction to her bad "smoker's breath". Marie seemed to sense they were impatient for her to leave, so much for her chance of overhearing some juicy gossip... She took the plates and silverware Edward handed to her and disappeared back to the kitchen, and the nice "natter" she'd been having with the cook.

"O.K. Al, you headed back to school, and then what?"

"Um, well, a couple blocks from school, I saw a big black car idling at the curb, and there was a black-haired man leaning against it and smoking a cigarette. He was looking in the window of a shop as if waiting for someone who was in there."

To while away the long tense hours of their flight from Germany, Edward had taught Alphonse how to observe details of everything he saw. Now he put his little brother to the test. "What was he wearing?"

Alphonse narrowed his dark brown eyes to slits and compressed his lips, his facial language for _deep thought_. "Umm, a dark charcoal single breasted suit and matching trousers, black shoes, well shined, a watch with a black leather band."

"His hair? How long was it?"

"Shorter than yours." Edward gave him a look which translated to _don't get smart_, but Alphonse ignored it. "About as long as mine, neatly trimmed, no dandruff."

_Ryos._

"What brand of cigarette was he smoking?"

"Bro - therrrr!"

"You don't know? Tsk." Edward grinned to show Al he was just kidding.

"What sort of shop was he waiting outside of?"

"A lady's dress shop, um - it was called Mrs Pumphrey's."

Hmmm...Edward passed by this shop every morning on his way to the employment bureau. It was on Bank Street, about halfway between their flat on Court Street, and Alponse's school on Earl Street. Mrs Pumphrey's specialized in knock offs of last season's Paris fashions, and it catered generally to women who's budgets didn't stretch to haute couture.

All this Edward had discovered one morning just by chance when he happened to meet the lady herself unwinding the awning over the front entrance to her shop. A brief chat had yielded all that information and Edward suspected she'd told him solely in hopes he had a mother or sisters. Or maybe she was sizing him up as husband material, she was yet another war widow whose husband had been killed in the trenches over in France. Edward shook his head, he was getting off topic again. After topping off their cups of tea, he lipped once while considering his next questions.

"Was he wearing a coat?"

"No, so I assumed he'd left it in the motorcar."

"Did you see anyone else in the car?"

"No, not clearly. The front windscreen was tinted too darkly for me to see more than an outline of two men sitting in the front seat. But as I passed by the car, the right rear window was rolled down and a man asked me directions to Court Street, to our building."

"Describe him."

Al compressed his lips again. "Older than the other fellow, his hair was receding, and cut very short, what was left was also black with some grey mixed in. He had a medium complexion, small nose, a large chin, and blue eyes. He was sitting down so I couldn't tell exactly how tall he was."

_Mathun._

"So, you gave him directions, then what happened?"

"He asked me if I needed a ride to school, because the lunch break was almost over. Just as he said it, the black-haired man tossed his cigarette into the gutter and walked up to stand next to me. It made my scalp prickle, so I said 'no thank you' and took off running."

"Very good Al, you listened to your instincts."

"I looked back after a few yards, both men were staring at me, and they'd been joined by a woman who was also staring. I didn't understand why at the time brother, but I suddenly felt very scared."

"What did the woman look like?"

"Um, smaller than the fellow leaning against the car. She had black hair, but I'm not sure of the length because she was wearing a dark brown coat with a grey fur collar which she'd pulled up. The coat was buttoned, so I don't know the color of her dress, but she also wore short, ankle length black boots. She was too far away for me to tell the color of her eyes."

_Tola._

"Did you make it back to school in time?"

"Noooo - " Al groaned and rolled his eyes skywards. "I _almost_ made it back to my classroom when the headmaster himself caught me, and gave me an hour's detention after school. I had to collect all the chalkboard erasers and calp the dust off them in the courtyard."

Edward grinned at the mental picture. "That must have been fun."

"Yeah.." Al grimaced. "My hair and clothes were white with chalk dust by the time I was done, my eyes were gritty and my throat was sore. I missed the after school football game, and I was starving."

"Is your stomach all you ever think of?" Edward snorted.

"At the time, yeah!" Al shrugged, but he gave Edward a wounded look. "But I missed you most of all, brother."

"I'm touched." Edward almost snorted again, but he thought better of it, and smirked instead.

"It's true, brother! I ran over to the Bull & Crown to see if you were there, and when the publican told me two men had helped you out because you seemed drunk, I got _really _worried."

Edward's smirk disappeared. "Did you go to the police?"

"No, brother. You told me we had to lay low, but I was so worried about you, I nearly did." Here Al lowered his head and look ashamed. "I started to walk up the steps of the police station nearest to Court Street, but - but I lost my nerve. Plus I thought they would just tell me the same thing Mrs. Doyle did, so I went home instead."

Al's voice had become very small and quiet on those last three words, so with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Edward asked three words of his own. "What happened next?"

"A light was on in our sitting room, and I thought - I hoped you had finally come home, so I ran up the stairs - the door to our flat was ajar - so I burst in without thinking, but - but the man sitting at the table wasn't you."

Edward had suddenly become so cold, his scalp prickled. "De - describe him, Al."

"Medium height, brown eyes, short brown hair, he wore a tan trenchcoat, and there was a brown felt fedora on the table by his hand. He'd brewed up tea, and he just sat there and drank it like he - like he owned the place!" Al finished on a note of indignation, his small hands balled into fists.

"Al, I know this is painful, I can see it in your face, but try to tell me what exactly happened then."

"He said _'We've been waiting for you, Alphonse Elric.'_" Edward jerked, and he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomarch when he heard this. They had made up a false surname - Edward liked Smith, but Alphonse had insisted Jones was better, so they compromised on Smith-Jones. The same sense of horror he'd felt when recalling his questioning while under the influence of the truth serum came back with full force.

"Then he drained his cup, picked up his hat and said _'It's time we were off.'_ I was so astonished, I just froze, brother. He then nodded, as if to someone behind me. The next thing I knew, an arm had come around my body from the left and that someone lifted me off my feet, and - "

Edward had put his head in his hands, and he swiveled it back and forth slowly as if he had an awful headache which he was trying to ease away.

"Brother? You look as if you 're going to be si - "

Edward held up his right hand. "Don't say it Al, don't say it. Let's get out of here first, suddenly I need some fresh air."

**Author's note:** I really struggled with this chapter because dialogue is my personal Kryptonite. Did my hard work pay off? It's up to you, the reader to decide.


	23. Chapter 23

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Summary: **We're still in flashback mode to the machine world, London, 1922. Edward and Alphonse have escaped from their kidnappers and are temporarily hiding in a cafe while Al relates his story of what happened while Edward was missing. Both are starving, so they enjoy some "bangers and mash", plus endless cups of tea. Edward frets about the Drachmans having his key and his identity card, but he gets some welcome news on the job front. Things can't be all bad...can they?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, just like to play around in it's world for awhile. I do own any OCs I've created for this story

**Warning:** Some mild cursing, all from Ed.

Chapter Twenty-three: In which Alphonse wraps up his story and Ed catches some "Z's.

As if on cue, Marie showed up with their bill, and Edward dug out his wallet and fished out a few pound notes to pay it, before he dropped a handful of shillings on the table as a tip. Both brothers mumbled something like _"the food was good"_ as they scrambled out of the booth, then Al was trailing in confusion behind his older brother who walked swiftly towards the door as if on some sort of mission.

Edward stopped abruptly at the door before he opened it slowly and cautiously poked his head out. He first looked right, then swiveled his blond head to his left. From her spot by the table where she was counting her tip, Marie thought their behavior a bit strange, but Al knew what his brother was looking for.

Edward's heart hammered so hard he could almost _feel_ his rib cage vibrate, but the street was clear. He jumped down the steps and stood, indecisively on the sidewalk. Al came out next to his brother, and at this close range, he could see Edward trembling from a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

Because he was _scared_, close to terrified even.

"Al? If worst comes to worst, and they corner us - _run_ - don't worry about me - just run as fast as you can. I'll meet you in an hour at - " he thought hard for a moment. "At - Tucker's Employment Bureau, O.K.?"

Al nodded, then whispered. "Yes, brother." And then he asked, "Brother? Where _are_ we?"

"Your guess is as good as mine Al, 'cause I'm lost."

The brothers found their way back to Court Street two hours later by following the sound of Big Ben's bells and using those to orient themselves as to the right direction. Along the way, they stopped after an hour of walking to rest in one of London's many parks, and while they sat on a bench, Al related the rest of his story.

Frankly, Edward wasn't sure he wanted to hear it because the thought of Conner putting his hands on Al almost made him feel physically ill, but he needed to know. For his part, Al swallowed hard, he had been terrified at that moment, and just _thinking_ about it dredged up that feeling.

"A left arm came around my body, it pinned both my arms down, and then lifted me off my feet. Then the right hand put this rag over my face, it was soaked in something which smelled very odd, and I started to feel sleepy after a few breaths of it. I was still in shock, I think, because I didn't think to fight it until it was too late."

"Was that the last thing you remembered?"

"Yeah. The next thing I know, I was sitting in the back of a car, I still felt a little woozy and my vision was blurry. I felt chilly, someone had taken my school blazer off, and the left sleeve of my shirt was rolled up, something that smelled strong was being rubbed on it."

Alphonse felt rather than saw his brother tense up.

"I blinked several times and my eyes cleared up, so I looked over and that man who had spoken to me earlier was sticking a needle in my arm! I - I froze brother, and he was so fast, he had given me the injection and was withdrawing the syringe before I knew it. He smiled at me in a way which scared me before he patted my shoulder and said _'you're a good boy because you didn't fight like your brother did.'_. I wanted to ask him what he'd done with you, but my vision got all blurry again and I fell asleep."

With his left hand, Edward squeezed Al's shoulder gently in a comforting manner. "Where did you wake up? In the car?"

"No, on a bed in a house somewhere, I don't know where. The room was rather dark, the shades were down, and there was a lamp on a table next to the bed, but it didn't throw a lot of light. That man with the brown hair was sitting on a chair next to the bed and watching me. Once I was fully awake, he tossed a bundle at me and ordered me to change out of my school clothes."

Alphonse indicated the clothes he was wearing - a dark blue button down shirt, dark gray slacks, black shoes, and a short black wool jacket.

"Your school uniform would have been too conspicuous, people would have wondered why you weren't in school, and started asking questions, maybe even called a truant officer." It was a smart if underhanded strategy, Edward wondered who had thought of it.

"I just stared at him, brother, I was awake, but my brain wasn't working yet. He knocked on the door and someone outside unlocked and opened it. As he went out, I heard him say _'the brat is awake, should we give him something to eat?' _Someone answered him after the door closed, but I couldn't catch the words."

"Did they give you any food?" Edward recalled he had been hungry before his first attempt to escape, but subsequent stress and fear had driven it out of his mind until later.

"After a while, I don't know how long it was, I changed my clothes and sat on the edge of the bed for maybe, I estimated half an hour, but I could have been wrong when the door opened again and this woman came in with a tray."

"Did she talk to you?" Edward remembered his odd conversation with Tola about her husband and his half brother Rudolfus.

"No, I think she wanted to, but this huge man stood by the door and he ordered her not to speak. He seemed to be rather cross with her, and after she set the tray down she turned to face me, and I could see she had been crying."

Some other park goers had sat down on nearby benches and one or two seemed rather too intereted in what Al had to say. So Edward touched his shoulder and murmured "come on." They continued their interrupted walk towards Court Street and once the sidewalks had cleared of people, he asked Al to continue his story.

"She left right after, and I was alone again for a while. The tray didn't contain much - a small glass of milk, and two pieces of toast spread with marmalade. It tasted alright, and I was hungry, so I ate it rather quickly. That gave me a bit of a stomachache, so I lay face down on the bed for a while and fell asleep. I don't know for how long, I don't think the food was drugged because I woke up right away when the door was unlocked a third time.

That huge man came in, but he didn't say anything, he just grabbed me by one arm and dragged me out of the room, down a flight of stairs and outside. The sun was up, but still in the east so I could tell it was early morning. He shoved me into the backseat of the car, the balding man was already in there, then the black haired man got in behind me, and the woman next to him. The brown haired man drove, while the huge man got in next to him, and he took up most of the front seat."

Not wanting to interrupt Al's train of thought, Edward said nothing and he just walked along, matching his stride to his little brother's.

"It seemed to me we didn't drive very far, less than a mile, but the traffic was quite heavy, so it took longer than expected. No one spoke to me, and I was too scared to ask any questions. We finally turned into an alley and stopped in a courtyard behind a building. The driver and the huge man got out of the car and they stopped briefly by the left hand window. The balding man rolled down his window and gave them a key, and the black haired man asked _'Should I go along with them, in case he refuses to cooperate?'_ But the driver said _'That's all right Ryos, I have a little persuader right here'_ and he patted his right coat pocket. I thought he had a gun, and wondered if they were talking about you."

"They were Al, but his 'persuader' wasn't a gun, just a rag soaked in chloroform, probably the same one used on you."

"Before they entered the building, the driver opened the trunk of the car, and the balding man said _'I'm sorry Alphonse, but you and Edward will have to ride in the trunk of the car; not to worry though, we've drilled air holes so you won't suffocate.'_"

Alphonse blanched. "Brother, I can't stand tight spaces, and I started to feel claustrophobic right there!

Then he told the other two - Ryos - and that woman - he called her Tola to take me out, he needed room to 'work'. I tried to run just as soon as I was out, but Ryos grabbed me by the collar of the collar of my jacket and said _'Don't try to run little Amestrine, for I will catch you.'_ Why did he call me that?"

"Because _Amestrine_ is the ancient term used in Drachma for Amestrians."

"Brother." Alphonse's dark brown eyes were wide, like ocular 'O's. "What are Drachmans doing here in the machine world?"

"I'll tell you later Al, finish your story."

"Well, Ryos kept a tight hold on me till we heard a faint yell, both of us looked up and it seemed to come from a broken window on the third floor. I recognized your voice brother, and I think Ryos did too because he let go of me and ran towards the door. Then he suddenly stopped and flattened himself against the wall next to it. That was when I tried to run again, but Tola grabbed me, she wasn't as strong as Ryos, but I couldn't shake her grip! And not long after that, I saw you standing there." Al cocked his head and looked at Edward with bright, inquiring eyes. "So brother, what were you doing with Drachmans?"

Alphonse gasped at Edward's words. "I didn't go with them willingly Al. They drugged and kidnapped me, I was held prisoner in that place."

They made it back to their flat sometime in mid afternoon, Edward wasn't sure of the time and frankly he didn't really care. He'd spent the rest of their walk home telling of his kidnapping and imprisonment to Al; at one point stopping and taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeve to show him the bruise on his wrist, and the needle tracks in the crook of his elbow.

Now they were finally back on Court Street, Edward nervously scanned the street for black cars, and the window of their flat for movement, but he saw none. He was footsore - even his legs hurt - and weary; all he wanted to go was get inside the flat, pull down the murphy bed they shared then drop onto the bed and sleep until doomsday. Or for at least a few hours he could sink into oblivion and forget _everything_.

He yawned hugely and stumbled over the outer threshold of number twelve Court Street, Edward was suddenly so bone tired he could have dropped off right there in the cabbage smelling hallway, an odor which warred with the bleach Mrs. Doyle scrubbed the worn lino floor with in vain hopes of making the hall smell "fresh". Any one of her tenants could have told her she would never succeed, but she kept trying anyways.

The squeaky, old and thin mattress of the murphy bed had assumed nirvana-like proportions in Edward's mind and he anticipated a very long nap with pleasure, but - no such luck. Just as they came abreast of Mrs. Doyle's door, stepping as quickly and quietly as they could, the loud rattling of the door's chain, plus the three deadbolts which secured it were heard before it popped open.

Brenda Doyle was a war widow from Londonderry, red haired and green eyed, she barely shaded five feet in height, but her outsize and pugnacious personality more than made up for her lack of inches. In that respect, she greatly reminded the brothers of Pinako Rockbell, the only differences being she didn't smoke, and she was fond of pretending to be helpless.

But Mrs. Doyle was far from weak. She was a tough-as-nails businesswomen who knew all her tenants on a first name basis, kept her rental properties in good trim - but was hardnosed about collecting rent when it was due, or evicting troublesome tenants. Edward rather liked her, but he had the feeling she wasn't as much passing the time of day during a conversation as she was also sizing him up as a prospective husband to replace the late, lamented (rumor was she kept one room in her flat as a shrine to him) Bruce Doyle, who had been killed in action on the Somme.

Maybe Edward was just paranoid. Then again, perhaps not. Mrs. Doyle was from a large family, and she had many maiden nieces of marriageable age, which she was trying to match up with eligable men. So her general attitude reminded Edward greatly of Maes Hughes who was always encouraging Roy to "find yourself a wife." In one sense, Edward was flattered, but he wasn't interested in finding a wife right now.

She usually had a friendly smile for them, but not this afternoon. Brenda Doyle did not look pleased, and her full mouth was pulled down in a frown while her green eyes looked as hard as pebbles.

"Young Master Smith-Jones!" she barked, meaning Alphonse. "You left your key in the door lock last night. That was very careless of you - I tell you, the younger generation -"

Al had the wit to blush and duck his head. "Sorry, Mrs. Doyle, I was so worried about brother, I quite forgot. It shan't happen again."

That seem to satisfy Mrs. Doyle because she didn't lecture Al about interrupting her lecture. Instead, she turned to beam at Edward. "And here 'tis your brother, all safe and sound like I told you he would be." Edward started, then remembering what she had told Al Tuesday night, blushed crimson from collar to hair roots.

"You look tired, Mr. Smith-Jones." Brenda's smile was knowing and Edward gave her a weak grin while he blushed even redder. He wondered helplessly: _Do all women have such dirty minds?_ _Now I'll have her expression stuck in my mind and I'll NEVER get to sleep!_

"A message came for you," she stepped back into her flat and rummaged in a basket set on a low table next to the door before she returned and handed Edward a small envelope. He looked curiously at it, his name _'Edward Smith-Jones'_ and address _'12 Court Street, London, W1'_ were written on the face of the envelope in a near copperplate script. The envelope was thin, like it didn't contain much, but at the bottom, he could feel a hard, flat object. Edward pressed down on the paper and the outline of a familiar object came through.

_My key!_

Now suddenly wide awake, Edward felt a cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His key, and perhaps his identity card were in this envelope. Mrs. Doyle's face took on a worried look. "Bad news, Mr. Smith-Jones?"

"Um, uhhh..." His expression probably looked stricken. "Er, it's from my employer. It might be a new job order." Brenda seemed eager to find out what it was, but she was doomed to disappointment as he stuck it in the left pocket of his coat instead of opening it.

The burst of adrenalin had been rrief, and Edward sagged against the wall, rubbing his left hand over his face.

_I'm so tired!_

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Doyle, but I'm exhausted and I need to get some sleep, thank you for the message."

He inclined his head to her before turning towards the stairs, but paused when she said "Excuse me, young Master Smith-Jones, but aren't you forgetting something?"

Edward put his right foot on the first tread and slowly began to mount the flight of steps. Including the ground floor they were on, (they lived on the third) this meant it was going to be a long climb of four flights of stairs.

"Be glad you have honest neighbors!" Mrs. Doyle used 'young master' as an address for boys like Alphonse. He dimly heard his little brother say a quick 'thank you' to her for his key, then he was racing up the stairs after Edward.

Edward took off his coat once they reached the third floor landing, and dragged it along behind him down the hall. The smell of cooking cabbage - and also beets - was very strong here, but Edward's brain was so fogged he barely noticed it, or Alphonse telling him he would unlock the door.

The nape of Edward's neck prickled briefly when he entered the cold and silent flat, but no hands reached out to grab him, and the feeling went away. He crossed the small combination kitchen/dining room - dropping the coat on the floor by the table - in three steps and entered the almost as small sitting/bed room. Al had darted ahead to pull down the murphy bed and lock it in place. Then he opened a nearby chest and extracted four pillows which he threw on the bed in a haphazard manner.

Edward was swaying with weariness, so before he fell down, he sat down on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his legs, and closed his eyes. For a moment, just for a moment.

"Brother!"

Al's shout made Edward awake with a start, he was still in the same position. Summoning the last of his energy, he bent down to untie and pull off his shoes before he turned and crawled to the right side of the bed and collapsed, his head fortunately landing right on a pilllow. He sighed once in relief, then Edward was dead to the world.

Alphonse returned to the dining area and hung Edward's coat, and his jacket on the wooden coat tree by the door. Edward was already snoring, he laid on his stomach, almost completely face-first on a pillow, left arm flung out over the bed, right arm handing off the side. Al suddenly felt tired too, but something bothered him - he didn't feel _secure_. He looked over at the door, and it looked weak to him, so Al walked over to it and threw the deadbolt and chain.

He still didn't feel completely safe, so after a moment of thought he took one of the three mismatched kitchen chairs by the table and jammed it underneath the door knob. Al shuffled back to the bed - and tripped over Ed's shoes. Stifling a swear word, he picked them up and carried them back to the mat by the door, before he bent over to untie and remove his own shoes.

Back at the bed, Al scowled at his snoring brother, whose left arm was taking up the space Al wanted to occupy. He climbed onto the bed anyways and poked Edward's left shoulder "Move your arm, brother." After ninety seconds of this, Edward made a vague grumbling noise deep in his throat, but he did retract his arm, shoving it underneath another pillow. Before he lay down, Al had one more task, he leaned over to Edward and pulled off his hair tie. Edward would eventually roll over onto his back, and if the tie were left in, he would wake up with a headache.

It took Al a few minutes longer to fall asleep...

When Al woke up, the flat was dark as well as cold and silent. He was disoriented and didn't know where he was for a moment, then he heard a soft snore behind him. Reaching back with one hand, Al felt the comforting warmth of Edward's body, Edward who was so deeply asleep he wouldn't wake up even if Al were to jump on the bed - a concept he had successfully tested one night.

He sighed and turned over, ready to go back to sleep, then he suddenly sat bold upright with the the realization his bladder was sending his brain an urgent message.

_Dammit!_

With great reluctance, Alphonse rolled out of bed and put his feet on the floor. It was freezing cold, and of course the fire - unattended since yesterday - had gone out. Al blew a loud sigh and padded in his socked feet across the floor towards a doorway roughly 'kitty corner' from the dining area. He was so accustomed to the layout of the room, he easily avoided bumping into furniture in the darkness.

Once past the doorway, Al swiftly negotiated a short hallway, past one closed door, and to a lavatory which had been carved out of a room at the end of the hall. A few minutes later, Al lowered the toilet lid, pullled the chain, and then turned on the 'cold' sink tap and washed his hands. As he walked back up the hall, Al paused and looked at the closed door he'd passed before.

After they'd reached London and rented this flat, he had originally slept in that room, but he'd never liked it. It was always cold in there, the air felt stuffy, and he slept fitfully, his slumber troubled by strange noises, smells, and the feeling 'something' was 'watching' him.

Alphonse's nerve finally broke the night he woke up to see the closet door open and a black murmuring shadow rush out, then shoot under the bed which 'it' proceeded to rap on the wooden legs of. He grabbed his pillow and the top blanket before he fled into the sitting room and curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace. Al somehow fell asleep only to be woken in early in the morning by a string of obscenities after Edward tripped over him.

At breakfast a few hours later, Edward made light of Al's experiences. "There's no such thing as ghosts, Al," he argued, and Al argued back. "Yeah? We used to think there was no such thing as homunculi either, but they existed!"

Edward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his flesh hand. "Like ghosts, homunculi don't exist here either. In this world, they are just scary stories. But if it makes you feel better, I'll sleep in there tonight."

Al had to admit his brother was tough, as he stuck it out for two nights in the haunted bedroom. The next morning, Edward was bleary eyed and yawning at breakfast. "Didn't you sleep well, brother?" Al asked with a smug grin on his face.

But Edward just shrugged and slurped his tea. "That mattress is lumpy, and it smells musty, that's all." But Al didn't believe his excuses for even a minute as Edward seemed strangely reluctant to go to bed that evening, and sometime during the night, Al awoke with a startled gasp to se a dark figure standing next to the murphy bed. "It's just me," Edward growled. "Move over."

So Al moved and Edward crawled in and rammed a pillow _over_ his head before he burrowed completely under the covers. "Brother? What happened?"

Al was alarmed because he could feel Edward _trembling_, as if he'd been badly frightened. Had he seen the same shadow come from the closet?

"I don't wanna talk about it" came the muffled reply. Al could sense a dangerous edge to his older brother's voice, so he gave up and went back to sleep. The morning after was a Saturday, so Edward slept very late, and didn't stir until early afternoon. The first words out of his mouth were "The murphy bed is big enough for the two of us."

The bedroom was demoted to the staus of storage room where they kept their suitcases, and the few pieces of out-of-season clothes they owned, the bed was stripped of it's covers and the frame shoved over to a far wall. The door was kept firmly closed, but when passing it during a nighttime visit to the lavatory, Al thought he could hear the bed springs squeaking, plus low mutterings at the keyhole of the door.

No sounds came from the room this time, but Al quickened his pace anyway, re-entering first the sitting room, and then the kitchen. He looked up at the clock mounted on the wall above the stove, the radium-tipped numbers and hands glowed, the positions of the latter informed Al it was nearly seven o'clock. He had forgotten to look at the clock before going to sleep, but he'd assumed it had been somewhere between three and four o'clock in the afternoon.

His stomach growled, telling him it was time for dinner. Al opened the fire box of the stove and was amazed to feel a little heat coming from the small mound of banked coals inside. After getting a poker from the wooden box of stove tools set beside it, he cautiously stirred the pile, then added a few more coals from the bucket next to the box. Al smiled as they caught and began burning briskly. So it wouldn't slam, he eased the door shut before standing up. Al took a kettle from it's home on a back burner of the stove, and re-filled it with water at the sink before he placed it on a front burner.

It would take a while to get hot enough, and while he waited, Al went back to the fireplace in the sitting room and hopefully stirered the banked coals with another poker. Nothing. He sighed and picked up the ash bucket and shovel, then started scooping ashes out, before he would lay a fresh bed of coals.

Al was almost done when Edward cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"

"The fire's gone out, brother, so I've -"

"I can _see_ that," Edward snapped testily. "You woke me up!"

"It's after seven brother, it's time you got up. Otherwise, your internal clock will be all messed up."

"My internal clock is fine the way it is," came the growled reply. "Where do you hear such nonsense?"

"From Mr. Krump, my Latin instructor. It's my first class after lunch and he always says it to my classmates who have fallen asleep at their desks."

"I still say it's nonsense. I've slept all day before without problems. This is the first good sleep I've had in two days which wasn't drug-induced, furthermo -" Edward's stomach chose that moment to interrupt with a plaintive gurgle.

"You stomach doesn't agree with you." Al smiled and put a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. Edward glared at his little brother and uttered very nasty obscenity He'd woken up in a bad mood and he was spoiling for a good argument, but his stomach growled even louder than his anger. He was hungry.

"DAMMIT!" he snapped, and got out of the bed. He landed with a thump, and stomped off in the direction of the hallway.

Al sighed and went back to scooping ashes out of the fireplace. Now brother was up, he could make all the noise he wanted. He dimly head the toilet flush, but he paid it no mind as he was so engrossed in this work. So Al jumped a few inches when the lamp next to Edward's chair snapped on and flooded the room with a harsh light.

Edward threw himself into the overstuffed chair with his arms crossed and pouted for a few minutes before he got up and went to the dining table where Mrs. Doyle had put the mail and the papers. He took the chair from under the doorknob and sat down, then hooked the wastebasket over with his left foot before he sorted the mail while muttering "junk, junk, junk, bill," (he didn't toss that one)"junk, junk", "are they _serious?", _(that one went into the wastebasket also), "junk, bill, junk - - BOLLOCKS!"

His face still tight with anger, Edward kicked the wastebasket back to it's spot against the wall, picked up the newspapers and stomped back to his chair with them. Alphonse looked sideways at his brother, but said nothing. He had finished scraping out all the ashes, and now he laid a fresh bed of coals down before he plucked a long wooden match from a holder next to the coal bucket. After he twisted a piece of old newspaper into a "spill", he struck the match on the rough side of the holder and used it to light the paper. This was pushed next to the bottom of the coals, ahd Al tossed the match on top.

Edward had picked up Tuesday's _London Times_ - he'd brought it in that morning, intending to read it after work but that was the day he'd been kidnapped. He angrily rattled the paper as he paged through it without really reading the articles, and before he was halfway through he muttered "Dammit!" again and crumpled the paper up before tossing it to the floor in a fit of pique. Still annoyed with Alphonse for waking him up, Edward could have happily gone back to bed, but now he felt too restless to do so.

The kettle began to whistle, so Edward lurched up and stomped off to the kitchen. He got two mugs from one cupboard, and a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits from another before grabbing a canister of tea from it's home next to the stove. It felt light, so Edward pried off the lid before he muttered another curse word upon discovering it was almost empty.

Going back to the counter, he opened a roll top bread box which was next to the icebox, and withdrew a small loaf which he experimentally banged on the counter top. _Hard as a rock_. Edward opened the icebox and looked inside, the milk was almost gone too, and when he picked up the bottle, he could see it was starting to curdle. The cream next to it had already turned and was smelling. Next, he investigated the small wedge of Stilton, it had mold on it, which he could cut off, but what to have with it?

The pickle jar contained more brine than pickles, and a pot of mustard had been inexplicably been put back empty and with a knife still in it. He then opened the fruit drawer to find one lonely apple, which he took out.

_So this is supper._

Edward got a sharp knife from the silverware drawer and peeled the apple before he cut it into thin slices, then turned back to the stove to take the loudly whistling kettle off the burner. He took a teaspoon from the drawer to measure the remaining tea into the two mugs, then filled them with hot water and stirred. Edward then returned to the knife and attacked the cheese with it, once the mold was off, he also cut the cheese into thin slices. Next came the turn of the two remaining pickles.

He put a slice of cheese, and another of pickle between two slices of apple, then bit into it. It wasn't roast beef, or a pork chop, but the combination of cheese and apple, with the crunchy pickle tasted all right. Before drinking his tea, Edward dumped two heaping teaspoon fulls of sugar in and stirred it thoroughly. He was still hungry, but now the edge had been taken off, he no longer felt like screaming obscenities and throwing things.

Al had a good fire going and the small flat was beginning to warm up now even the electric light didn't seem to glare so much. When Al dared to look back and smile at Edward, he returned the smile. "Come and have a cheese, apple,and pickle sandwich. I know it's not much, but the nearest shops are closed by now. And I'm not ashamed to say this Al, but I'm afraid to go out, even if I could get us some cheap sandwiches at The Bull and Crown. In the dark, I won't be able to see those bastards coming."

Al came over and took the 'sandwich' his brother offered, but he had nothing to add, so the brothers kept eating their impromptu supper. Al made a face at the tea, and he added THREE teaspoons of sugar before looking at the icebox. "Sorry Al, both the milk and the cream have gone bad, you'll have to make do with sugar. I'll go out early tomorrow for some bread, milk, tea, and apples. In the meantime..." he raised one arm and sniffed. "I really need to take a bath, but they also have my k - "

Edward stopped in mid sentence and set down his mug of now lukewarm tea. He'd forgotten the envelope Mrs. Doyle had given him. Where had he put it?

In his coat pocket.

Where was his coat?

He'd let go of it sometime after he'd entered the flat, because he'd gone straight for the bed and lain down. Al slurped his tea and muttered "Brother", then pointed at the wooden coat rack near the door and on the other side of the table. Edward crossed the space in three strides and reached into the left pocket. His fingers closed on paper and he drew it out. Edward had lied when he told Mrs. Doyle it was from Tucker. The neat script on the front of the envelope wasn't his handwriting - it was too neat, too cursive, too - feminine.

The paper crackled as Edward tore the envelope open with his right index finger and shook the contents out onto the table. His key bounced out first and Edward caught it with a dull 'clank' in his right hand. Next, he drew out a thick piece of pasteboard, about the size of a calling card. His identity card. It listed his name (last name false), date and place of birth (also false), height and weight (no longer applicable), eye color (well, that at least was true), and his current address, plus a small black and white photo of himself which was glued to the card.

Edward swalowed hard, there was a small piece of paper still inside the envelope and he withdrew it with trembling fingers. It was folded over once and contained just a few words:

"We'll be in touch." - M.

The penmanship of the note wasn't very good, and he compared it with the writing on the envelope. That script was more cursive and written with a lighter hand than the heavy printing of the note. He suspected Tola had penned the address, while Mathun had authored the latter.

Edward wondered while he was bothering with such minutae until he realized he was doing so to avoid the invevitable truth. "They will come back for us Al; that job offer is a gift, hopefully we'll be gone when they do return, and if luck is on our side, they will _never_ find us."

"Unless they ask Tucker." Al's voice was gloomy and he'd lost his appetite.

"Tucker knows what a solitary person I am, so he'll know they aren't friends inquiring after me. He won't tell them."

"My school friends might, so I'd better not tell them exactly where we are going, only that you've taken a job doing _something_ in - um..."

"Catalouging a private library in - um, Ireland!" Edward's mood began to lighten as Alphonse pasted on a small brave smile. When still a state alchemist, he used to spend the hours on long train rides making up whoppers to tell Mustang. When he felt the need to, Edward could lie with a straight face better than anyone. "Some country house near, er - Belfast. Tell 'em you'll write when you can."

Alphonse's face fell again. "I won't be able to write to them, will I brother?"

"We'll work something out, Al. Someone from the estate is bound to go to Ireland for some reason and we can give that person the letters to mail there. If not, we can figure out another way. Your friends will hear from you, and our kidnappers will waste time chasing their tails."

This brought a chuckle from Al, which made Edward smile. It pleased him to make his little brother happy, and now they had made plans to outwit the gang of Drachmans, Edward felt he was fulfilling his mother's final request to take care of and protect Al with everything he had.

It was with a light heart he reached over to the cutting board and assembled another cheese, apple, and pickle 'sandwich'. It now looked like everything was going to turn out okay, another bullet dodged by the brilliant Elric brothers. Unknown to Edward, Alphonse was thinking roughly the same thing. He'd been taken by surprise once, but he wouldn't let that happen again, and now they were together, he would protect Brother with every fiber of his being.

Al's hand shot out and grabbed the 'sandwich' Edward had just made, throwing a bright smile in the direction of his brother's scowl. Just about to take a bite, he paused and wrinkled his nose.

"Brother, you smell!"

**Author's note:** Guess it's bath time for Ed. Sorry fan girls, you'll just have to use your imagination!

I just checked the stats for this story and it's had 6,100 hits (as of 9/24), and is listed in two C2 communities. BUT - it's had only 81 reviews! You know what this means, right? A whole lotta people owe a review, that's what!


	24. Chapter 24

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, I just like to play around in it's world for awhile plus annoy the characters - usually Edward. But I do own any OCs I've created for this story.

**Author's note:** No regular beta for this story yet, but I've assimilated the advice of Aemilia Rose who is beta-ing some (as yet) unpublished fics for me. Plus some stuff she directed me to online about concise writing and I "tweaked" this chapter myself before uploading it. Tell if I've done enough.

Chapter Twenty-four: In which it's discovered some can come to a decision on their own, while others have to be pushed.

**Londonium, 1920**

Precisely at nine am the next morning, Hetty Ravensworth came to the entrance of Colonel Elric's bedroom and rapped on the doorframe. The huddled form on the bed stirred briefly, but when it didn't move again, Hetty rapped harder before she loudly cleared her throat.

This time, the figure turned over to face her and mumbled something like "Huh? Wudjawakemeupfur?"

One bleary golden eye cracked open and balefully regarded her from behind tangled strands of blond hair. Colonel Edward Elric was awake - barely.

Hetty had faced worse 'hairy eyeballs' in her years so she didn't quail now. "Your breakfast is ready, Colonel, come and eat before it gets cold."

Very, very reluctantly, Edward sat up in his bed and opened his other eye. Then he closed both and fluttered them before opening each eye at the same time. Heavily crusted with sleep, they slipped closed again as Edward's mouth gaped in a huge yawn. He stuck both his arms out to the sides and stretched, he could feel his shoulder joints crack and muscles protest.

Yesterday had been even busier than the day before and he'd gone to bed sometime between nine and ten pm, but his overstimulated brain had refused to stop whirling on a cen. He'd lain awake for an hour - maybe three - while madly firing neurons attempted to make sense of it all, to compartmentalize all he'd experienced that day. They failed miserably.

Edward would have a lot of work to do tomorrow and keeping mental track was impossible, and he wished he'd written it all down. He eventually fell asleep when his higher functions finally exhausted themselves and gave up on the task, but his sleep was troubled by a horrible nightmare, the first he'd had in some time.

Tola merged into Dorothy Woolfe and she crossed Paddington High Street with excruciating slowness as a monstrous truck bore down on her. Edward tried to scream a warning, but his voice was too soft, he couldn't shout "Watch out!" loudly enough. Just bfore the truck hit Tola/Dorothy, it's front grille opened to reveal long, sharp fangs dripping with saliva, and it ATE her.

While the truck was chewing Tola/Dorothy with disgustingly wet crunching and slurping sounds, it "saw" Edward and began to chase him. So Edward ran, but in frustratingly slow motion as if through deep and. He could hear a high-pitched screaming plus a wet grinding noise, and when he looked back the truck's grille was still moving as it chewed it's victim. "Kiss me, my darling!" shrieked Tola/Dorothy but Edward didn't dare stop running.

He ducked behind buildings and around sharp corners, but the truck just smashed right on through. Once he tried to hide behind the Central Londonium Morgue, but the truck simply CHEWED a hole through the building and continued to pursue him. So Edward had to run again, this time along the frozen Speed River, the truck so close behind him he could feel it's hot breath upon his back, the whine of it's many wheels bringing it closer and closer until it's long tongue reached out and flicked against his neck.

As Edward ran, he passed beneath many bridges and at each one, people he knew - Alphonse, Winry, Ian, Pratchett, Prince, Lilith, Hetty, Mustang, Hawkeye, Havoc, Lust, Dante, Envy - and others looked casually over the railings at him. Edward pleased for help each time, but no one moved to aid him. The truck had now grown too big to pass under the bridges, so each span exploded into a shower of metal, or bricks, or stone blocks when the truck smashed into them.

Whoever had been on the bridge would go flying impossibly high until long black arms shot out from the truck's body and dragged them while they screamed shrilly to the cab's front, and stuffed them into the grille/mouth. When Edward looked back again, he saw nothing but a blank whiteness behind the track, as if it was erasing everything it passed through and obliterating his world...

There was just one figure on the last bridge, his half brother Rudolfus. Edward held up his hands and cried "Bruder! Konen sie mir helfen, bitte!" And his older brother helped him. As Rudolfus flung out his right hand, a rope uncoiled from the palm and Edward grabbed it without breaking his stride. He began to climb as fast as he could, but the rope was made of glass and so very slippery.

Suddenly, the truck's long tongue wrapped around his waist and it started to drag him backwards. Edward screamed "Brother!" and looked up to Rudolfus, but he was gone - the end of the rope was merely hanging in midair. The truck tongue tightened it's grip and the rope shattered, sending long shards of glass deep into his hands and Edward was falling...

He looked back one last time and the truck's mouth, lined with hundreds - no, _thousands_ of fangs was gaped wide to swallow him whole. It's windshield has turned into two red glaring eyes and it was _laughing_ at him, exhaling great gusts of hot and stinking carrion-scented breath with each spasm. Edward screamed again and again but his voice had finally failed and he made not a sound.

He woke up just before the teeth closed on him, a scream echoing in his ears...

For several minutes, Edward just sat there and drew in stuffy air, then exhaled it in gasping sobs. He was soaked in sweat, hair and pajamas plastered to his skin. What had felt like the truck's tongue was really a flannel sheet which had become twisted upon itself and then around his midsection by his thrashing. Too spooked to sleep, he untangled himself with difficulty from the scattered sheets and stumbled to the bathroom. After using the toilet, he closed the lid and flushed before he sat down upon it, arms resting on his legs and head hanging low. He silently promised himself _I will never sleep again!_

Edward sat and trembled in this position for some time, but after he heard a distant clock tower chime three, and then four a.m., he suddenly got up while muttering "this is useless" under his breath.

He stripped off his now cold and wet pajamas, then reached into the tub enclosure and turned on the shower. After he fiddled with the taps for a bit, he stepped under it's stream. The warm water soothed his tense muscles and after a few minutes of sluicing off the sweat, Edward grabbed a bar of soap from it's built-in dish and throughly laved himself before he washed his hair.

Having forgotten to first get out some towels, Edward dripped all over the floor after he shut off the water and climbed out to search the linen closet built into one wall of the bathroom. After roughly drying himself with one towel, he used a second one to more throughly dry off his automail limbs, then wrapped and tied the first one around his waist. After pulling out a third towel, he sat down on the toilet seat to work on his hair.

It was only half dry when a wave of weariness suddenly washed over him and Edward thought _I'll fall asleep if I stay here!_ Which brought on a mental image of his housekeeper entering the bathroom to find him slumbering in this positon. Dressed only in a towel which barely covered his knees. The thought made him blush.

After giving his hair one last rub, Edward dropped the towel on the side of the tub, but it slid off and fell to the floor. He was too tired to pick it up and after slowly levering himself to his feet, he kicked the second towel and his damp pajamas out of the way before stumbling back to his bedroom. The towels around his head and waist fell off somewhere along the way but he didn't notice. Edward cringed when he crawled between the sheets - they were slightly damp and felt clammy - but he didn't have the energy to search out fresh ones and he laid down anyway. The last thing he remembered was twitching the blankets up around his shoulders before he plunged off the deep end into the blackness of sleep...

Burdened with her purchases for today's meals, Hetty Ravensworth entered the flat at eight a.m. and she set straight to work after relieving her arms of the parcels. Hetty struck a match and lit one of the burners of the gas stove, then set a cast iron skillet on top and put in a few squirts of cooking oil. Then the did her usual circuit through the flat - the dining room was clean and the table was already set for breakfast. The sitting room was also clean, except for the glass of now flat white soda Edward had been sipping at. Next to this was the formerly damp cloth she had laid on his forehead, She took them back into the kitchen, rinsed the glass and put it into the sink and put the cloth back into the 'rag bag'.

The pan was hot by now, so Hetty put off her check of the rest of the flat and returned to the counter. She got a sharp knife from the silverware drawer and reached into one of the carrier bags to remove a couple of potatoes, a large onion and two peppers - one red, one green. The potatoes went into the sink where they were scrubbed and dried before she placed them on a cutting board and cubed them.

Once Hetty finished with the potatoes, she opened the cuprboard and got out a small bowl into which she swept the potato cubes, then transferred them to the pan and dumped them into the hot oil. While they began to cook she returned to the cutting board where she cut and chopped the onion and peppers into small pieces. She stopped only once, to wipe tears from her eyes and go to another drawer to get out a spatula and a cheese grater.

She used the spatula to turn the potatoes so they would brown evenly before returning to the cutting board and filled the bowl with the onion and pepper pieces. After they were added to the pan, the air began to fill with the redolent smells of the new additions, and Hetty spent a few minutes at the stove, stirring and seasoning from two small containers of salt and pepper which stood sentinel next to the stove.

Once the mixture in the pan was done, she pushed it to the side with the spatula and from another carrier bag she produced three rashers of bacon which were placed into the pan. While they began to cook, Hetty walked across the kitchen to the coffe maker which she had prepared last night with a new filter and fresh grounds in the basket. She took out the glass carafe and filled it with water then the machine almost full. The inch of water left over was used to soak the grounds.

Hetty replaced the carafe and turned on the machine to start it perking before she opened a roll top metal box on the counter next to it and withdrew a half loaf of bread from it, then a serrated knife from the silverware drawer. She cut four thin slices from the loaf and popped them into a silver toaster which was on the opposite side of the coffee maker, and slammed the sides shut.

The bacon was ready to be turned, which Hetty did before she removed the rest of her purchases from the carrier bags and put them into the refrigerator. Before closing the door, she retrieved the glassbutter dish, a jar of grape jam, a carton of eggs, a square of Cheddared cheese, and a pot of mustard. The first two items she carried over to the dining room table and set next to the breakfast dishes. Before she returned to the kitchen, Hetty opened the wooden blinds on the two windows, so the morning sun poured into the room and pooled on the floor.

The bacon was done and Hetty took it out of the pan and set it onto some paper towelling torn from a roll held by a marble holder opposite the salt and pepper containers. She moved the pan from the burner and replaced it with another cast-iron skillet from the cupboard under the stove. While it heated up, she rummaged in the counter below the cutting board and eventually coming up with a small earthernware bowl.

Hetty cracked three eggs into it and whisked them together with a teaspoon of mustard and half a cup of water. The toaster popped open while she whisked, so she briefly paused to extract the hot bread and placed it on a silver tray, then put a cover over it and took it into the dining room. After she came back, Hetty grated the Cheddared cheese over the bowl and whisked the shredded cheese in. The pan was hot and Hetty took the bowl over and poured in the egg and cheese mixture into it, using the spatula to scrape out any egg residue. She set the bowl aside and picked up the warm bacon to crumble it into the potato/onion/pepper mixture in the other pan.

After they were stirred together with the spatula, Hetty scraped them on top of the cooking eggs and went to check on the progress of the coffee. It was alomost done so she opened another cupboard door to retrieve the silver coffee pot. A 'ding' announced the end of the perk cycle and she decanted most of the hot coffee into the pot, but left just enough of the Cymru Roast to fill a mug. She would need the caffeine to cope with the task of waking Colonel Elric.

After she carried the pot into the dining room and placed it on the table with it's handle facing the empty coffee cup, Hetty returned to the utility drawer to get out a large metal pancake turner and used that and the spatula to flip the cooking eggs over. Now she had a little time on her hands, she went out into the hall and entered the Colonel's suite. His private sitting room was pristine, if a little dusty - she would have to see to that later - but the bathroom was a mess. A wet towel and a pair of damp pajamas littered the floor, the taps in the tub were still dripping and there were damp spots on the bathroom rug.

The pajamas smelt strongly of male sweat, so she picked them and the towel up and bundled them together before she bent down to turn off the taps. The bundle was shoved into the laundry hamper in the hall and she continued into the bedroom to find two more damp towels on the floor, plus a sleeping Colonel Elric almost entirely covered by blankets.

Once Edward was sitting up in bed, Hetty turned smartly on her heel and returned to her work of making his breakfast. She paused only briefly to toss the other two towels into the hamper. The omelet was done to a turn, so Hetty slid it out of the pan and onto another silver tray, placed a cover over it and placed it to the left of Edward's plate.

The odors of cooking food had finally reached the bedroom and Edward's nose twitched before he sniffed appreciatively and his mouth started to water. But he was _so_ tired, maybe too tired to eat, was it really almost nine a.m. already? Without noticing he was stark naked, Edward moved to the side of the bed and idly scratched his balls while his mouth gaped in yawn after yawn. He must have slept deeply after his shower although it felt like he hadn't gotten a wink after bolting awake from that nightmare. Edward wondered if his screams had been loud enough to bother the other tenants.

His left hand stopped what it was doing when Edward looked into the dresser mirror and realized he was utterly, completely and totally - nude. As in the day he had been born, as in a jaybird. Edward slapped himself on the forehead when he remembered - his pajamas had been soaked through with sweat, they had been damp and clammy so he had left them lying on the floor of the bathroom after his shower. _Mrs. Ravensworth must think I'm a pig!_

Now mostly awake, Edward got up and rummaged in his underwear drawer for a clean pair of boxers and pulled them on. He couldn't decide what to wear for the day so from the bottom drawer he got a pair of gray flannel drawstring pants. _Lounging pants_ the clerk at the menswear store in Central had called them, but Edward just referred to the pants as 'incredibly comfortable' and they were the first things he reached for after a long day at Central HQ. To cover his automail and scarred chest, he pulled a black flannel crewneck sweatshirt over his head before he sat down at the dressing table and began working on the rat's nest called his hair.

After five minutes, and much cursing, yanking, tugging and eye watering, Edward hadn't made much progress. He was getting very hot and angry and for a few insane moments Edward considered grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting his hair as short as possible, then shearing off the stubble so he'd be as bald as Lt. Colonel Armstrong. He shuddered at a mental picture of himself with one little blonde forelock and pink sparkles circling his head. Edward stuck out his tongue at his reflection in the mirror and said "yuck!" aloud before he set back to work on the snarls.

And that was the state Hetty found him in, his hairbrush was hopelessly stuck in one knot while a string of curse words tumbled from his lips. And once again, she was struck by the dichotomy, such foul words coming from such an innocent looking face. She bustled into the room and scolded "Language, Colonel! Language! Here now, let go of that brush!"

Edward's watering eyes glared golden doom at her because brush was stuck in place and couldn't be shifted. To his astonishment, she slapped his hand away and took hold of the brush. "Allow me, Colonel."

She freed the brush with a few deft flicks of her wrist. "Colonel, give me your comb." He growled softly, but did as she asked, and Hetty began to work on gently teasing open the hair knots.

While she worked, Hetty said "My youngest, Liam, had long black hair, even longer than yours. Well it **was** long until the chemo for the cancer made it all fall out. The treatment was worse than the disease and it nearly killed him, plus his hair never grew back. He used to joke about being relieved because he would never again have to worry about his hair snarling up after it was washed."

She sighed, half happy and half sad. "Like most men, he used the wrong tools and went about unsnarling his hair in the wrong way. With a hair brush he would try to tear the knots apart with brute force. It's really best to use a comb and use gentle flicks like this. It pays off with less pain - and fewer bad words."

Edward flushed and kept his eyes averted to the floor, he now felt embarassed for showing off the dark side of his vocabulary. His housekeeper's touch was soothing as she sorted through his hair for knots and gently picked each one out. "Put your head back, Colonel." Hetty ordered and Edward did so, realizing too late a silly smile had crawled over his face because he'd been daydreaming Winry was unknotting his hair.

He kept his eyes closed for fear he would look right into hers should he open them. Had she lived, his mother would be close to the same age as Mrs. Ravensworth. His housekeeper had the same kind eyes and Edward wondered how many other children she had, and if Liam was still alive.

Edward's mind wandered onto that particular train of thought which took it far away from a chair at a dressing table in the ground floor flat of a house on Paddington Square in the city of Londonium back to the vllage of Risembool and a large house on a hill. Into its kitchen to a slim brunette woman who was humming a lullaby as she sliced carrots. Finally the woman stopped what she was doing and smiled down at him - he must have been very young - with kind blue eyes. The term _mother's eyes_ came unbidden to Edward's mind and time stopped.

Edward gasped softly and opened his eyes. Mrs. Ravensworth was still working on a knot and all her attention was fixed on it, the tip of her tongue sticking out from between her lips as she concentrated. Because the knot was right at his hairline, she was being extra careful but it eventually yielded like all the rest had and silken strands flopped down into Edward's eyes. "All done Colonel, but next time remember to use that 'Snarls No More' conditioner."

His scalp still tingling, Edward sat at his chair in the dining room and sipped his coffee twenty minutes later. The potato/onion/pepper/bacon/cheese omelet had been delicious and he'd polished it off to the last shred, similarly only a few crumbs remained of the toast. And if Mrs. Ravensworth let him get away with it he would also empty the pot of Cymru Roast to the dregs too.

_Oh caffeine! How I love thee!_ sang his jangling nerves. He would probably regret it later, but Edward had a lot of work facing him today and the buzz he was already feeling would help him wake up and get through it. _Will my automail rattle if I drink all this coffee?_ his brain idly wondered before he set down the cup and slapped himself on the cheek to get it back on track.

He needed to write all today's tasks down and after casting his gaze around Edward spied a memo pad and a pen next to the telephone. He couldn't quite reach them from a sitting position so he had to get up off his chair and walk a few steps. Once there, Edward looked down and smiled ruefully at the metal wastebasket he'd retched into last night. Now it was not only clean, but it evne looked 'polished' and he felt a stab of guilt knowing what Mrs. Ravensworth had been compelled to do.

After grabbing the pad and pen, Edward sat back in his chair and uncapped the latter. But before he began to write, he paused to take another sip of coffee. At the top of the sheet he wrote:

_Dumb Things I Have To Do Today_

Below that, he jotted the numeral 'one' and his first task:

_1 - Visit Amestrian Embassy and Call Mustang viz Drachma_

Edward went down a space and wrote 'two':

_2 - Visit Alchemist Society viz contacts and C. harassment_

Another space down and 'three' was written:

_3 - Warn Alphonse viz threats to alchemists, plus get him to talk to B._

Edward sat and stared at the pad while thinking hard, then apparently satisfied with what he'd written, he tore off the top page and folded it in half before placing the sheet next to his plate. He recapped the pen and poured the last of the coffee into his cup and while he did so it suddenly occured to him Bond had not made good on his threat to come early.

He remembered Ian had been very perturbed by the appearance of Rudolfus and his two companions. The New British Secret Service had known when **he** arrived and they even knew about Alphonse, so how had they failed to note the presence of a Drachman State Alchemist? Edward closed his eyes and smiled at nothing in particular while he savored the aroma of the coffee and sipped it. He recalled the many times Mustang had called him on the carpet for infractions of one military rule or another - Edward not giving a hang about whatever protocol he had broken - or at least badly bent. It had been worth it to see Mustang's face turn red and his eyebrows twitch.

When Roy Mustang got angry, **really** angry he forgot to be sarcastic or make snide comments about Edward's height. The first time he had returned from the 'machine world' Edward had taken great pleasure in making fun of Roy's eye patch, but nothing topped his second return. The day he and Al, footsore and weary had stumbled into Central HQ and Roy's intended sardonic comment had been stopped dead in it's tracks when Edward had pulled himself up and looked Roy straight in the eye...

Edward slowly drained the cup and said softly to the empty air. "Somebody is in **BIG **trouble."

He didn't know the half of it.

Across Londonium and in a secret bunker located deep underneath the Houses of Parliament sat an unshaven and bleary-eyed Colonel Ian Bond. He'd been rousted from the comfort of his warm bed by 'X' just after 6 a.m., but he'd been laying awake for some time as he mentally listed the questions he planned to ask Elric. Ian had not welcomed the intrusion of his superior officer in the Secret Service, although he hadn't been surprised by the woman's sudden appearance in his bedroom. Most people wouldn't have heard her coming - staffers at HQ blieved she could make herself invisible - but nearly ten years had made Ian's senses painfully acute. And speaking of painful...

He was now starting to feel the bruises inflicted nearly forty eight houirs before by Eothan and Bersan. His arm ached particularly fierce, but 'X' hadn't given him time to take any of the pain pills the doctor had prescribed for him. Ian had tried to order 'X' to leave the room before he threw on some clothes, but she had just smirked and replied "I promise not to laugh." At least she had given him time to shake some pills from the bottle into a little plasticine baggie. Once they reached HQ an anonymous staffer had given him a cup of nasty office tea to wash a couple of them down.

After a couple hours of waiting, designed to shred the nerves of field agents called in, Ian sat in a lone chair in the middle of a mostly bare room while one bare lightbulb dangled above him. This produced the only albeit glaring, light but the area illuminated by the bulb was very small and the room behond it was either too dim to see clearly or too dark to see at all. Yet Ian knew a curved table - almost but not quite horseshoe-shaped - lurked in that darkness, a table with seven chairs at it.

If not already occupied, they would soon be sat in by the mysterious group known as the "Higher-ups" who ran new Britain's Secret Service and the Home Island Defense Forces, all under the umbrella of MI-7. All seven members of the group were experts with years of experience in their particular fields of espionage. No one knew their true identities, but while still a cocky 'probie' (probationary agent) Ian had once asked 'X' if she knew their names and would she tell him who they were.

She replied, "Yes, I could, but I would have to kill you immediately after doing so. " She had looked Ian straight in the eye all the while she delivered her statement without a trace of irony. That was when Ian had realized 'X' had not been joking - this was a deadly serious business.

The pain pills began to kick in just as shuffling noises in the area of the table told him the 'Higher-ups' were taking their seats. Ian relaxed - just a little - as the stiffness and soreness ebbed away. The area behind the table began to brighten - in order to keep their faces hidden, the 'Higher ups' were backlit. As well as making them hard to see, this lighting trick also served to intimidate people called before them.

_Well, color me 'intimidated' then_, he thought.

Now the light was bright enough, Ian could distinguish seven silhouettes at the table. Known within MI-& only by their code names: Brother and Sister were the alpha pair with the most authority, then came Aunt and Uncle, followed by First, Second, and Third Cousin. To further mix things up, Brother and Uncle were women, while Sister and Aunt were men. Ian wasn't quite sure about the Cousins, but two looked to be men, while the third was a woman. Maybe. MI-7 thrived on illusion and no where was illusion more paramount than with the 'Higher-ups'.

First to speak was Sister. He cleared his thrat and began in his chesty rumble. "Colonel Bond! We have your reports on the events of the past twenty four hours; the activities of the Christians and of the Drachman spies are worrisome, but what distresses Brother and I most," he inclined his head to Brother on his right. "Is the discovery of a former Drachman State Alchemist in our country. How did this happen without the knowledge of the Secret Service?"

Ian swallowed hard. "Unknown, sir. From what I ahve gathered, the alchemist and two companions found their own way to New Britain, but are now being sheltered by a third party."

Brother spoke up, her voice thin and sour as if she'd been sucking on a lemon. "There seems to be quite a bit you do not know Colonel Bond, your performance is most disappointing."

Ian hung his head when Third Cousin piped up in a falsetto voice. "This is not what we expected when we hired you."

"I realize that, Third Cousin. I am currently attempting to gain certain - ah, _confidences_ from the Amestrian Colonel, Elric regarding some background information regarding the Drachman known as Rudolfus."

"So what is the delay, Colonel Bond?" This was spoken in the deep grumble of Aunt.

"Colonel Elric has a younger brother attending Highgate University and he apparently shares this background. Said background appears to be too painful for the younger brother to recall, so he has asked his elder not to speak of it."

"Funny, Colonel Bond," Sister spoke again, but he didn't sound amused. "I never knew you to be so sensitive to anothers feelings."

Ian winced, Sister was only exercising his sarcasm muscles, but he was right. In the pursuit of information vital to his country, Ian had been utterly ruthless in the past and he had physically threatened, and even hurt people. When circumstances called for it, Ian Bond could drop his veneer of civility and become a very unpleasant man indeed.

He swallowed hard again and wished for something to drink, even that nasty office tea would do. Sister nodded at someone behind him and within seconds a man was at his side and offering a glass of water. Ian took it with thanks and drained half the glass in one gulp. After a few more quick swallows, he returned the now empty glass to the man who returned to his position in the shadows.

"Colonel Bond!" Sister snapped out. "This Amestrian had information which can answer many questions, so I don't have to spell out where your duty lies. Your first priority is to your country, not someone's 'feelings'. We will give you one week to try it your way. If you fail, we wil take over and do it **our** way, is that understood?"

Ian had no choice but to comply. "Yes, Sister! Understood, sir!" He snapped out his answer in stacatto military rhythm, the way he'd been taught.

"Do not fail us, Colonel Bond! Dismissed!"

There would be no appealing the decision of the 'Higher-ups'. Ian stood and bowed to the seven before he turned sharply and walked towards the door in the wall behind him. As he passed through it, he could hear Brother declare "Next order of business is..." but he didn't pause to listen. Bond's mind was in a whirl because he felt trapped between a very large rock and a very hard place. If circumstances had been different, he and Edward Elric could have become great friends. He genuinely liked the younger man, but now he would have to betray him...

_All is fair in love, war and espionage._


	25. Chapter 25

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, I just like to play in it's world for awhile and occasionally torture the characters - usually Edward. But I do own any OCs I've created for this story.

**Summary:** After a horrible dream, Edward sets off to get some work done while Ian catches heck for not leaning on Ed hard enough.

This chapter has not been beta-ed. If you wish to take on the thankless task of being an "after beta", please send me a message.

**Warning:** Minor spoilers scattered thoroughout this story.

Chapter Twenty-five: In which secrets are revealed while others are simply pried loose.

Lost in thought, Ian drove reflexively through the morning Londonium traffic towards Paddington Gardens. Best to tackle Elric before he got it in his head to go haring off on his own. He really hoped Hetty hadn't let him have too much coffee, Edward had been ready to go bouncing off the walls when in the grip of yesterday's caffeine buzz. But when he turned into the pleasant square Edward called 'home' and saw Hetty standing by the gate, a curse tumbled from his lips.

Elric had already breakfasted, dressed and left. Yet from the smile on the lips of his best operative, Ian knew she had 'information' which came in the form of a folded over piece of note paper. When Edward had gone back to his bedroom, Hetty had hoped he would leave the note next to his plate long enough for her to scan and memorize it. But he took it with him and dashed those hopes, yet all was not lost. Once she heard the bedroom door shut, Hetty approached the note pad which had carelessly been left lying on the table.

She took a pencil from her apron pocket andcarefully rubbed the long end over the top page. Fortunately, Colonel Elric had a heavy hand and he had pressed hard while writing, so his memo showed up clearly. When Edward passed through the dining room again, his mind was busy with the tasks he had set himself, he barely registered the cleared table, much less the note pad back at it's place by the phone with one sheet less than he'd left it with.

Ian quickly scanned the note and his lips quirked at the title:

_Dumb Things I Have To Do Today_

_1) Visit Amestrian Embassy viz Drachma and Call Mustang viz Drachma_

_2) Visit Alchemist Society viz contacts and C. harassment_

_3) Warn Alphonse viz threats to alchemists, plus talk to B._

_Damn and blast!_ Ian swore softly to himself. There was no way he would be allowed into the Amestrian embassy without a prior appointment, which meant there was only one thing for it then. "Good job, Mother Hen!" he called to Hetty and then put his car into gear. When he drove past the embassy a few moments later, Elric wasn't in sight, this meant he was probably inside the 'secure room' now and on a hotline that ran directly to the Fuhrer's desk.

Ian drove past 'Embassy Row', each building a small plot of sovereign nation with each country's flag flying proudly over it's entrance: Amestris, Meso-America, Alhambra, Caledonia, Eira, Cymru, Roma, Creta, Aurego, Drachma, Redland, Bourbon, Samovar-Troika, Xing, and so on. He turned the corner and drove two more blocks then stopped and parked in front of a non-descript looking office building of faded red brick. But that was just it's front. In the lobby Ian showed his MI-7 warrant card to a pretty receptionist and said "Mr. Graves to see Mr. Steele, please."

"Just one moment sir, I'll ring and tell him you are coming."

She picked up a black phone receiver, dialed two numbers and spoke in code. "Mr Steele? Mr. Graves is here to see you sir."

The answer on the other end must have been in the affirmative for she replied, "I'll send him over directly, sir."

She hung up the receiver and beamed at Ian. "Mr. Steele is waiting for you Mr. Graves. Take elevator five, please."

A bank of three elevators was a few feet behind the reception desk, Ian entered elevator two, punched a button marked with the numeral 'eight' and spun around to face the lobby as the doors closed and the elevator rose smoothly to the top floor of the building. Thirty seconds later, a bell softly sounded when the elevator arrived on the seventh floor but opening doors revealed the car was empty. A man waiting for the elevator got on and punched a button to go back down to the lobby. He too faced the front so he never noticed the back wall of the elevator was actually a set of cleverly concealed doors.

After the front doors of elevator two had closed, these second doors had opened and Ian stepped through into elevator five, a secret high-speed car which whisked him directly to the nerve center of MI-7's foreign surveillance operation. What the staff of each embassy didn't know was, their secure phone lines weren't really secure - not only were they tapped, but software had been secretly installed to disable scrambling devices, and all the codes had been broken.

_Keep your friends near._

The room was large and round, encircled with banks of desks mimicking the circular pattern, each desk had a person wearing headphones sitting at it. The headphones were attached to large black metal boxes, their faces covered with dials and blinking lights, these were the recording machines. Each operator also had a pad of lined yellow paper in front of them in which they were scribbling summaries of each call. The room was cool and the lighting low, the only sounds were the scratchings of pens overlaying the faint hum of many voices in different languages.

A middle aged woman dressed in a nut brown houndstooth skirt suit came forward to greet Ian. "Ah, Mr. Graves, what can I do for you?"

"Hello Mr. Steele, I need to hear what is being said by the Amestrians."

"The Amestrians?" 'Mr. Steele' cocked a well plucked eyebrow. "What ever for? They are really quite boring, they hardly ever keep their scramblers up to date or change their code words, not worth bothering with in my opinion."

Ian smiled and shook his head. What would Elric say to the charge his country was 'boring'? "No, Mr. Steele, the Amestrian embassy, I need to listen to a phone call which was recently placed."

'Mr. Steele' looked disappointed. "A waste of your time, Mr. Graves - now the Drachmans," she said, brigthening to her subject. "They are a challenge, they change their code words and scramblers once a week, sneaky little buggers."

"Thank you for the offer, but no Mr. Steele."

Knowing she was defeated, 'Mr. Steele' sighed. "All right dearie, what do you need?"

"A phone call was placed this morning from an Edward Elric at the Amestrian embassy to Roy Mustang in Central, Amestris."

'Mr. Steele's' face lit up, "You want to listen to the Fuhrer? My, you don't play about, do you Mr. Graves?"

At Ian's unchanging expression, she sighed again and flapped her hand in the air. "Oh, you're no fun anymore Mr. Graves. Come this way please."

She turned and led Ian past the banks of desks, the operators still scribbling away, the sound still underlain by the hum of hundreds of supposedly private conservations being eavesdropped upon. The sound faded away after 'Mr. Steele' opened a nondescript metal door and ushered Ian through. They walked down a short hallway painted in what Ian privately called 'Government Green', and he stopped when she did before another ordinary door, wooden this time. After pulling a ring of keys from one pocket, she unlocked the door, leaned in to flip on a light switch and said crisply "Just put on the headphones and when the operator comes on, tell her which phone call you wish to listen to. There's pens and a pad of paper on the table."

Then she turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her. Ian looked around the room, it was small and perfectly square, the walls painted in 'Bureaucrat Brown'. It contained a small square wooden table and an uncomfortable-looking chair of the same dark brown wood. Upon the table sat a rectangular black metal box, a twin to the recorders in the other room, it's faced covered with dials, switches, and lights. A set of headphones was plugged into a jack in the middle of it and to one side of the machine was a black metal tray with a half dozen pads of lined yellow paper on it. A slot beneath the tray held several blue pens.

He sat down at the table and slipped the headphones on over his ears, then flipped a switch on the metal box to the 'on' position. A light above it glowed green and a pleasant female voice came throught the headphones. "Which call please?"

"Amestrian Embassy, Elric to Mustang, thank you."

"One moment please"

While he waited, Ian pulled over one of the pads and a pen. His headphones crackled loudly and a recorded female voice came on "Phone call began at 10:45 A.M. and ended at 11:20 AM GMT."

Ian next heard a dial tone, followed by a bright female voice saying "Central Headquarters, how may I direct your call?"

Sounding a bit odd over the phone line, Edward's voice came on "This is Colonel Edward Elric, the Fullmetal. May I speak to Fuhrer Mustang, please?"

Almost two hours later, Ian white-knuckled the steering wheel of his car while he drove with one eye on the traffic and kept the other one peeled for Edward along the route to the building housing the Ancient And Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists. He has listened to the recording of the call three times and after the third repetition, Ian had been forced to admit defeat.

The pad of paper remained pristinely unwritten on because Elric and Mustang had spoken in codes, their personal codes of traveloge and women's names which they used for their alchemy research notes. Codes MI-7 had never before encountered and therefore hadn't broken. Ian was so frustrated he could have wept.

For his part, Edward was enjoying himself immensely. After his phone call with Mustang, he had asked one of the embassy receptionists the location of the Ancient and Noble Society of Alchemists' headquarters and directions on how to get there.

It was a bit warmer this morning than yesterday and the walk was pleasant if long. The receptionist had offered to call a cab for him, but unsure of New Britain's monetary system, and how much to tip, Edward had declined the offer. It would be a two mile hike, but he had walked many times further than that in one day, both in Amestris, and in Europe. After he strolled down Paddington High Street, Edward turned right and crossed the street at the junction with Regent's Gallop. He admired Londonium's system of traffic control, one of lights flashing either red, orange or green made for a smooth flow of pedestrians and motorized traffic.

Edward still looked warily at the heavy trucks as he crossed, and he walked a little faster because the front grilles of a couple looked similar to that of the truck in his nightmare. After a mile, he turned off onto Soho Row and eventually left again onto Kitten Mews, and about 100 yards down was the building housing the ANSAA. It was hidden behind a perfectly ordinary red brick wall, and the entrance was a perfectly ordinary heavy wooden door studded with strips of brass and iron strap hinges. Set flush into the brickwork, it had a simple bell pull next to it. Edward gave the pull one hard yank, then let go and listened to the bell peal behind the wall.

A small rectangular slot about eye level opened so suddenly in one of the brass strips Edward was startled and he stepped back a bit. A pair of suspicious blue eyes regarded him warily from the other side behind a narrow grille, and a brusque male voice with a pronounced burr demanded "State your business!"

"Good morning," Edward began. "I wish to speak to - "

The slot slammed shut and a muffled voice shouted from within. "Go away!"

Edward's eyes narrowed with just _slight_ irritation and he gave the bell pull another yank. When the slot opened a second time, he stuck his broken state alchemist watch right up to it. "I am Amestrian State Alchemist Colonel Edward Elric, also called The Fullmetal. I wish to speak to - "

The slot slammed shut a second time before he could finish.

Edward growled, ground his teeth and fought back the urge to scream curse words in frustration. His temper already rising, he pounded on the door with his metal fist (denting some of the brass work) and yelled "Open this door or I'll transmute it into kindling!"

The slot opened a third time and a new pair of eyes, gray this time, glared out at him. "Sir, please step away from this door or I'll have the police on you."

Edward set his jaw and growled again, more audibly this time. "I have business here and I want to talk to someone in charge!"

"About what, may I ask?"

Before I came here, I was given letters of introduction to six people. Five of them were members of this society and all of them are now dead, four of them by murder."

The eyes moved away and the slot closed, but not all the way and Edward could hear a muffled conversation between several people before the slot re-opened and the gray eyes looked out at him again.

"What were their names, please?"

"F.F.Machus, Remigius Jungbeck, Dorothy Woolfe, Edmund Ameche, and Oliver Comstock." Edward's temper was wearing thin and he didn't bother to leave the steel out of his voice.

A faint gasp was heard from inside, but the eyes didn't waver. "And what was the nature of your business with them?"

Edward's left eyebrow twitched and his voice was pitched low and dangerous. "That is what I'm trying to find out."

The voice became more conciliatory. "Please understand, sir, because of some - ah - 'trouble' - we have to check the bonafides of all visitors. How can we be sure that watch is authentic?"

Edward stuck it up right against the grille of the slot so the eyes got a good look at the rearing horses set against the background of a simple alchemy array. He tried, but couldn't keep the snark out of his voice. "Fuhrer Mustang doesn't just hand these watches out to any one. I have to pass written and practical assesments every year to keep my license as a State Alchemist."

The eyes disappeared a second time and more frantic whispering was heard before a third set of eyes - brown ones - came to the slot. "Ex - excuse me sir, wha -what did you say your name was again?"

Edward delivered his answer from betweeen gritted teeth. "Colonel Edward Elric, Amestrian State Alchemist, the Fullmetal!"

Several loud clicks and clacks were heard from within. There was one last 'clunk!' and the door swung open to a most curious sight. Five people - three men and two women - were bowing deeply in his direction. All five wore floor length robes of deep jewel-like colors which were decorated around the edges of the hoods, sleeves and along the hems with silver studs in the shapes of moons, hearts, and stars.

It gave Edward a jolt of recognition and also made him feel very uneasy. The members of the Thule Society in the machine world had had donned similar robes, though of darker colors and not decorated. But they made the same fuss over alchemy with convoluted rituals - and - Edward's brows knit together in annoyance because the five had been on the verge of finally standing straight when they bowed a second time.

"Please," he said. "Please stop bowing. I'm just an alchemist, not anyone special."

They reluctantly straightened up after their second bow - they seemed to be set on another one and rather disappointed by Edward's protest. A black-haired man wearing a robe in a rich ruby-red color - Edward noticed he was the owner of the gray eyes, protested. "Oh, but you _are_ special Colonel Elric! Even before diplomatic relations with Amestris were restored we have been in awe of your country's State Alchemist programme in general, and the reputation of the Fullmetal Alchemist in particular!"

Edward gulped. _Is it getting hot in here, or is my head just swelling?_ Never before had he wished so ardently for one of Winry's wrenches updside his skull to bring him back to earth. To hide his embarrassment, he reached back and tightened his unbraided ponytail, but his cheeks felt heated and he was sure they were flaming red.

"Um, that's very nice of you to say that, but I came here on a specific mission, to find out why five members of your society were designated by Ambassador Pankhurst as my contacts."

One of the women, a tall lady in a green robe who had rich chestnut hair done up in intricate braids on each side of her head said, "Maurice, I suggest wer escort our guest to an inner chamber where he can be more comfortable and we can discuss these matters in private."

Maurice bowed to her. "As always, Clarissa, I can count upon you to have the priorities straight." He smiled as he said it, but Edward noted the smile didn't reach Maurice's eyes, and there was a note of falseness in the brittle tone of his voice.

Maurice turned to Edward, bowed and said, "Will you please walk this way, Colonel Elric? Our cook shall be serving luncheon soon and she would be honored to have such a great alchemist at her table."

Edward _was_ hungry, it was getting on for noon, but his feeling of discomfort grew with the discovery of another parallel with the Thule Society. He still inclined his head and murmured something about how he'd be happy to lunch with them. He had come for information and a few twinges of unease weren't going to make him leave without what he wanted to know. But he wasn't going to mimic Maurice's mincing pigeon-toed walk. Despite all of the flattery, Edward still had some standards...

Luncheon was served in a cozy dining room paneled in oak,after everyone was seated at a large round table. The first course was cream of asparagus soup, followed by a peppered loin of beef and garlic mashed potatoes. It was delicious and was followed by dessert, a warm apple tart drizzled with white cream cheese icing and it shared the plate with a scoop of Bourbon vanilla ice cream. For the sake of being a good guest, Edward put aside his dislike of dairy products and ate all of it.

After the meal, Edward was introduced to the cook, a Mrs. DeLine who seemed to melt under his kind words. He got the impresssion the woman's efforts didn't get much praise from the society members. After she retreated, smiling and blushing back into the kitche, Maurice wanted to give him a tour of society headquarters. But he first insisted Edward don one of the colored robes - 'a courtesy we extend only to other alchemists'. So he removed his coat and pulled one the one given to him - midnight blue - with good grace. Although it made his feelings of unease grow.

Once Edward was ready, Maurice led him, with the other four tagging behind from the dining hall through a high ceiling hallway made in the half-timbered style. After roughly fifty yards, the party made a right turn and came to a set of heavily carved doors of black walnut. The doors were huge - easily ten feet high - and the carvings brought Edward up short with an unpleasant jolt. They were so alike the ones he'd seen upon the Gates of Alchemy, the shocked look must have shown on his face.

Maurice smirked and said, "These doors were carved centuries ago by a member of the Eldritch family, a man who claimed to have seen the true Gate of Alchemy, impressive, are they not?"

Edward just gave him a sideways glance through his bangs. He really doubted Maurice could endure seeing the Gate without wetting his pants. His host continued grandiosely.

" 'The Gate of Alchemy' are also known as 'The Gate of Truth', so we thought it was most appropiate they guard the entrance to our library - behold!" After Maurice pushed down on black wrought iron handles, both doors swung open silently on oiled hinges.

The library of the Ancient And Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists was a massive room with a vaulted ceiling even higher than that of the hallway. A few people were studying at wooden tables under green-shaded lamps.They looked up curiously and Edward badly wanted to join them, for he loved libraries. Back in Amestris he had spent many happy hours exploring the stacks of the great Central Library.

Built in the grand fashion of private estate libraries, this one's walls were lined with bookcases of time-darkened oak and walnut which covered nearly every available inch, and were seperated every ten feet by tall, narrow clerestory windows. The top of each bookcase was surmounted by a metal rail with a ladder attached to the top edge and Edward saw a couple of people balanced precariously at the tops of those ladders either removing or replacing books.

Near to Edward, and also at the far end of the room were graceful iron spiral staircases leading to a second floor full of more bookcases. Comfortable looking armchairs, which invited sitting and reading were set along a curlicued iron railing which guarded the edge of the balcony. The whole place smelled of old leather, paper, wood, dust and silence. Silence broken only by whispers of sound, pages being turned and pens scratching over paper. The only other movement was of a middle-aged man pushing a wooden cart full of books, he would stop as each occupied table and either hand out books or pick up books to add to his cart. It looked like a perfect heaven to Edward.

Maurice led the way through the library - slowly - because Edward was craning his neck to look right and left with awe. The library was like a shrine to knowledge and deeper inside, any blank wall spaces were white washed and hung with an assortment of time-darkened portraits. Edward assumed they were of famous New British alchemists, and one full-length study caught his eye, a man with golden eyes and hair the color of warm caramel.

The man depicted looked very much like his father, except he was wearing clothes of several centuries ago. A blood red doublet with slashed sleeves showing yellow undersleeves, a snowy white ruff about his neck and on his legs were pale yellow hose secured with red ribbons tied at the knees. His shoes were shiny black and topped with large silver buckles and he stood flanked by a large wooden globe of the alchemic world to his left. On his right was a small round wooden table with a stack of books upon it.

The figure held a book upright in his left hand, which was supported by the table, one finger was stuck between the pages as if he had been reading when the painted arrived, and he was saving his place until the portrait was finsihed. His right hand was upon his waist, be-ringed fingers splayed out, and a small smile played about his lips as if he was saying 'I know something that you don't' to the viewer.

A small brass plaque at the bottom of the ornate frame the picture was in identified the subject, but the writing was so tiny Edward was unable to read it. Clarissa leaned over and whispered in his left ear, "That is Hohenheim Eldritch, and this portrait was painted over 400 years ago in this very library, for this building was once the Eldritch family's town home."

Not to be outdone, Maurice whispered in Edward's right ear, "Hohenheim was known as 'The Prodigal'. He was such a brilliant alchemist, no one could match his knowledge. He abruptly left took ship from New Britain one day, and it's said he was going east to learn from the alchemists there. People assumed he meant Xing, but he was never heard from again and it is thought he died enroute for long journeys were fraught with hazards from pirates on the sea, and bandits on the land."

Edward thought to himself, _Or he never got any further than Amestris after he met Dante._ He bent down to more closely examine the portrait, so he didn't see the superior look Maurice threw at Clarissa nor the icy smile she gave in return.

"Shhhh!" An austere looking man with a lined face, a tonsure of nearly-white hair, dressed in a faded black (and un-studded) robe shushed from a high desk nearby. Edward looked rather askance at the old fellow's temerity until he realized, _of course, he's the librarian!_ His hooded pale green eyes, a large hooked nose, and hollowed out cheeks made him look a suitably fierce defender of silence. Maurice smiled maliciously at the man, then mouthed _this way please_ at Edward, and the little party was off again, exiting the library via another set of large wooden doors.

Once back in the high-ceiled hallway, Maurice could speak freely - and he did. "Our librarians are appointed for life and old Tom Dragonera takes his duties very seriously. Sometimes too seriously, but no book has ever gone missing on his watch!"

The little party of six were passing a series of closed doors and Edward could both see light through frosted glass transoms and hear voices chanting from behind them.

"When the Eldritch family owned this building, they ran a small boarding school where they tutored the children of alchemic families, plus they held daily salons where important alchemic, social, and political subjects could be discussed in a pure and unfettered manner. Today, the society strives to live up to their shining example."

Maurice said this so smoothly, Edwasrd suspected he had memorized this little speech to regurgitate on cue to any visitors.

After a few more yards of walking, the hall ended in a pair of enourmous bronze doors, the faces decorated with a pair of sinuous dragons twining about one another, done in high relief. They surmounted a saying in Latium incised onto a banner beneath them etched in low relief.

"The crest of the Eldritch family!" beamed Maurice, but the dragons greatly resembled Envy in his true form and Edward shivered underneath his robe. Whoever had worked these dragons had been an artist of great skill, for each scale, claw, and tooth were so lifelike Edward had the feeling he could reach out and touch _real_ dragons. The eyes in particular were so lifelike - the cat-like pupils somehow colored red - they made Edward uneasily recall his confrontation with the Envy-dragon in Munich.

Maurice burbled on, "...the crest is translated as 'Do Not Meddle In The Affairs of Dragons' andit was a warning to the families warring for the throne of New Britain 500 years ago not to involve the Eldritches in their squabbles, nor try to utilize their alchemy in them."

Then Maurice leaned forwards and pushed down on one of the door handles - also bronze - there was a soft _click_ and they swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. The space immediately beyond was poorly lit, but Edward could see great iron pillars supporting a circular balcony. Without a further word, Mauric walked past the doors and into the room, with the expectation Edward would follow. The room was a bit cooler than the hall outside and now Edward was glad he had put on the woolen robe.

The only light underneath the balcony came from a series of lamps bolted to each pillar. Once past the balcony however, the light became brighter and Edward could see they were in a huge open space and he shuddered again. This was too much like the Thule Society's headquarters where he had found that massive array Noa had made from his stolen memories.

He looked up and he could see the walls rose to a staggering height, then slowly tapered to a stained glass sky light made of brilliantly colored panes. _It must look spectacular when the sun is right above it_, was his thought. Despite his imagined fears, there was no coiled dragon suspended by cables high above, with a pony-tailed man clenched in his jaws.

"Comes this way, Colonel Elric" Maurice urged, his right foot on the bottom tread of a wood and iron spiral staircase. "I think you will like the view."

Curious, Edward followed him up the stairs, their footsteps thudded on the wooden treads. He snuck one look back and their original party of six had more than tripled in size. Word must have spread about the foreign alchemist and every society member was eager for a look at him. They had reached the level of the balcony now, and Edward saw there were threee more levels above him.

"Take a look at _that_, Colonel, and tell me what you think. Do you have anything half as impressive in Amestris?" Maurice's voice was a mixture of pride and challlenge, and when Edward looked over the railing, he had to admit that it _was_ breathtaking.

Down below him was an alchemic array made on a massive scale. Incised into the slate floor, it had circles within circles, and bore runes he'd never seen before and the whole glowed softly with a faint white light.

As transmutation circles go, it was beautiful.


	26. Chapter 26

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**Warning: **This chapter contains violence and some blood-letting. Edward's mouth is pretty foul too, but no bad words are specified beyond "dammit!"

_Chapter Twenty-six_: In which some background tensions are revealed.

Edward had forgotten about his surroundings, about his hosts, and even about all the curious faces staring at him. He was so enthralled by this array. His golden eyes moved back and forth and up and down, and he tried to do his best to memorize every curve, every circle and every rune for later sketching. He wished he could call Al and bring him over to look at it, and - _oh, damn!_

Edward came back to the here and now with a gasp, "Does anyone have the time?" he whispered.

"1.35 PM," Clarissa whispered back. "Is something the matter, Colonel Elric?"

"I need to phone my little brother and warn him. I was attacked by a Christian yesterday and I forgot to tell him they have it in for alchemists!"

Gasps of shock and surprise, and sotto voce whispers of "that poor man!" rippled through the crowd. As if he was a born leader, Maurice took over again. "Of course, Colonel Elric. Our offices are just the other side of the Great Circle and we are at your disposal if you wish to make a phone call."

A brief traffic jam then ensued between Edward's party needing to get back down the steps while late-arriving society members were still trying to climb up. The sight of so many robed bodies doing the the 'you're in my way' shuffle would have been funny to Edward if he hadn't been so anxious. But he side-stepped the problem by nimblly leaping over the staircase raiing and landing on his feet upon the slate floor with a crash.

He looked up at Maurice and Clarissa who were still trapped upon the stairway and threw a silent question to them with his eyes. And for once, Maurice was speechless. He simply pointed to a doorway on the far end of the circular hall. Edward looked first at the door, then at the huge array he stood next to, then finally at Maurice.

"The circle is incised deeply into the floor and the glow is created by phospherescent paint."

Edward nodded and turned smartly on one heel, then he marched straight across the circle to the society offices. Several gasps sounding behind his back told Edward that walking across the array was probably akin to sacrilage and it did bother him slightly, but contacting Alphonse was of greater importance.

On the other side of the room, Edward opened a metal door and enterd a short hallway with an arched ceiling which ended at a plain wooden door. He opened this door and found himself in a more brightly lit hallway which was painted a plain ulitarian off-white. Apparently the private offices area of the Ancient and Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists didn't require carved woodwork or incised brass to be efficient.

Edward walked up a floor of grey tile and passed more plain wooden doors topped with frosted glass transoms. Through the half open transoms, he could hear typewriters busily clacking away, or droning voices dictating letters. Most of the doors simply had numbers painted in black upon their faces, so he kept walking until he found one marked 'Office.'

He rapped his knuckles on the wood before he turned the knob and entered. The only occupant was a pretty girl with marceled blonde hair and a heavily made up face. She was busily painting her fingernails with a bright red polish while a half-written document awaited finishing in the typewriter. A sky-blue robe hung over the back of her chair and Edward guessed she preferred to show off her fashionable green velvet dress with it's snowy white collar and cuffs. He didn't really blame her, the scoeity robes hung like burlap sacks from the shoulders and the silver studs made the wearer look ridiculous.

"Just a moment, ducks!" she said, as she concentrated on applying a coat of polish to one last nail. "Just one more stroke, aannnddd..."

She looked up at Edward while she capped her bottle of polish and her face burst out into a huge smile. "OOH!" she squealed with what sounded like school-girlish delight. "You look like a manly sort, and I can tell you we don't get many of those here. What can I do for you?"

Edward blushed while he wondered what she meant by that. "Err...yes, I need to make a phone call and Maurice said I should come here."

The girl was batting her eyes - Edward noticed they were bright green - at him while puckering her mouth which had been covered with rather too much lipstick into a 'Cupid's bow.' She reminded him very much of a gigantic version of the Kewpie dolls he used to see offered at carnivals back in the machine world.

She finally stopped trying to flirt with him and picked up the receiver of a large black telephone in one hand, and a pencil in the other, eraser end down. She was just about to dial when she looked up at Edward and batted her lashes again. "Number, please?" she asked.

Edward hesitated. He didn't know Alphonse's phone number, nor even if he had a phone in his college lodgings. He bit his lip in indecision, which was a mistake because the receptionist's face instantly brightened and she squealed "Ooh!" again.

"Umm..." he began. "Do you have a phone book? I don't know my brother's phone number. He attends Highgate University and lives in Hotspur Hall."

"Hmm..." she muttered. "Phone numbers of students aren't publicly listed for security concerns, but I know someone who works in the university office. Maybe she can help."

She dialed a series of numbers, and the dial seemed to take impssibly long to click back after each one. Edward suddenly realized he was shifting from one foot to the other with impatients. Or maybe it wsa just a full bladder. The receptionist pointed him in the direction of the bathroom without missing a beat.

When Edward came back five minutes later, and wiping his hands on his robes because hd'd been too impatient to wait for the autmatic hand dryer to finish it's work, the receptionst had the phone receiver to her ear and she was humming some tune. She looked at Edward and mouthed 'they've got me on hold!'

Edward had just sat down in an uncomfortable wooden chair when she suddenly said "Oh, hi, Mavis! This is Deirdre. I've got a fellow here who needs a phone number for his brother who goes to University. Where? Um, Hotspur Hall, he said."

Edward could hear a faint matching squeal come over the phone line and Deirdre replied "That's right, 'Hot Man Hall'." She listened a bit, then said, "Hang on, I'll ask."

Deirdre covered the mouthpiece and whispered sotto voice to Edward, "What's your brother's name?"

"Alphonse. Alphonse Elric."

Deirdre repeated the name to Mavis and after she said "Uh huh" a couple of times, took the receiver from her ear again and said "She's patching you through." Then she handed the reciever to Edward.

He heard nothing but interminable ringing, then a click, and finally a serious sounding voice he at first didn't recognize as Alphonse intoned, "Hello, you have reached the Terran Embassy of the People's Republic of Uranus. If you wish to speak to the co-ambassadors - "

In the space between the brief pause, Edward could hear hysterical giggling. " - Elric or Pratchett, please leave your name, number and a brief message after the beep. Thank you. Live long and prosper."

Someone howled with laughter in the background and was indignantly hushed. Then came a loud 'beep!' right in his ear and Edward wasn't prepared, so he stammered a few times before his mouth could force out, "Alphonse, Edward here, your brother - I mean. Listen, we've got a slight problem here. A man calling himself a Christian attacked my yesterday..."

Edward paused to take a breath. "...I forgot to tell you because - oh, I dunno - the Drachman affair pushed it all to the back of my mind. Anyways, um - they don't like alchemists and now they've found out about you."

He made another pause for breath. "So I'm calling to warn you, keep aware of the people around you and be watchful of any stranger who acts like he knows you. Er - that's all. I hope you had a good day at school, um - study hard, but not too hard. Love you, little brother."

Edward returned the receiver to Deirdre who hung up the phone. He wished he could re-record his message. _I sounded like an idiot!_

Deirdre was giving him a sympathetic look and when Edward caught her eye, she smiled and said "That's why we had to put a guard at the door, the Christians would come at all hours of the day and try to force their way inside."

"One time, they got as far as the library." Deirdre shuddered as she said this. "When we caught up with them, they were splashing petrol around the stacks and it was quite a struggle to prevent them from setting fire to the place."

Edward was interested in this story. And without realizing it, he had put his elbows on Deirdre's desk and cupped his hin in both hands. "What happened to them?"

"They all ran into the Great Hall and some of the members were all for triggering the array and letting 'Gate Justice' take it's course. But Mr. Machus and Mr. Comstock disagreed. They transmuted the petrol cans into a cage of red hot metal and held the Christians there until the police arrived."

_Interesting, _thought Edward. _Machus and Comstock voted for mercy. _"Who wanted the Christians dead?"

"Oh, nearly everyone else. Mr.Maurice, Miss Clarissa, Mr Youngbeck, Miss Woolfe, and Mr. Ameche were the loudest voices for that end. There was a terrific row about it but eventually Mr. Machus and Mr. Comstick argued enough people over to their side."

"What did the Christians think of this?" Edward asked, but Deirdre's reply only confirmed what he had suspected.

"Oh, the whole lot wanted to die, I'd never seen people who were so set on ending their lives. There was one fellow who seemed to be their leader and he told us were were all blasphemers and God had commanded him to commit us to the fires of Hell. And if they were to die trying, well so much the better because they would all be sent directly to Heaven."

Struck by an idea, Edward asked Dierdre. "This group leader, can you remember enough to describe him?"

"Ugh." Deirdre raised her bright green eye towards the ceiling. "I'll never forget HIM. He ws easily the ugliest man I've seen in my entire life, and some of the society members here would finish last in a beauty contest against a pig and goat, if you get my meaning."

Edward smiled to let her know she had, but he wanted her to get on with it.

"Oh, taller and heaver than you, tiny eyes, very short brown hair, squashed nose, cauliflower ears, and rotted teeth. His smile was positively scary and that drab trenchcoat he wore buttoned up to his chin didn't help."

_Carpenter._

Edward transferred his grip and rubbed his chin with his flesh hand as he recalled Carptenter's final words in his statement to Button:

_We will have no choice but to burn him at the stake._

Soon after he became a State Alchemist, Edward had found an ancient book about the Amestrian witch hunts at the Central library. It had been a heavy folio-sized volume, too heavy for him to carry and Al hauled it to a table for him. Together the brothers had squinted at the spidery faded handwriting on delicate sheets of vellum and marveled at the depths of inhumanity adults could sink to.

As they left the library at closing time that day, Al had said in his hollow voice, "Well, brother, at least people are more civilized now, right?"

Edward had given him a big grin and agreed, but that had been before they'd learned more about what had happened in Ishbal, and in Lab 5, and Scar began killing State Alchemists.

_How foolish both of us were!_

They had seen far too much inhumanity in the last ten years and Edward hoped he'd seen the last of it once they had returned home.

He had just opened his mouth to tell Deirdre 'thank you' for the trouble she'd gone to when a klaxon sounded loudly and a red light in the ceiling of the office began to flash.

"Excuse me!" Deirdre squeaked as she ran over to a console and began to push buttons. She picked up a microphone in one dainty hand and spoke into it. "Warning! Warning! We are under attack! Lock all doors and take up your positions! This is not a drill, I repeat, this is NOT a drill!"

She flashed a grim smile at Edward's shocked stare. "Speak of the devil!" she said as the formerly silly girl was now all no nonsense as she flicked a toggle switch. A formerly blank wall flipped over to reveal a row of eight video screens. Deirdre flicked another toggle switch and all eight hummed to life.

"There!" she pointed to a screen which showed the main reception hall with trench coated figures running through it. Deirdre picked up the microphone again and pushed another button. "Intruders in the main reception hall, Mr. Maurice. They are heading for the small dining hall."

She put down the microphone and smirked at Edward. "Creatures of habit, these Christians. They are heading for the library again."

Edward was still trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "Which is the quickest way back to the main reception hall?"

"Back the way you came, I'm afraid, but..." Deirdre nevre got to finish because Edward had already ripped the office door open and he was racing back the way he'd come, towards the Great Hall. Edward burst through the second door and he hurtled across the array without hestitation. The Hall was empty and silent, it's great bronze entrance doors ajar.

The hall he emerged into was almost as quiet, but he could hear a faint commotion at the far end, so Edward broke back into a dead run.

There was a massive scrum going on at the exit of the small dining hall. At first, Edward could only see a boil of robed bodies and hear a confused babble of angry yells. But as he drew up close, someone shouted, "Watch out! He's got a sword!"

Edward saw something gleam above everyone's heads at the top of its swing, then it came down. Screams were heard as robed bodies staggered back, and a couple of them fell. A bald man wearing a tan trenchcoat which was spattered and smeared with blood, and carrying a bloody sword stepped out into the hall.

Edward bared his teeth and growled under this breath, his instincts told him he was facing a man who was trained to fight, perhaps a former soldier. He was nearly a foot taller than Edward, so his reach with the long sword he carried would be tremendous. Edward would somehow have to get _inside_ his swing.

The man had already noticed Edward and he narrowed his ice-blue eyes and started walking with long strides towards the alchemist. Edward didn't think even once, but clapped his hands and alchemised the top of his automail arm into a blade. His mind barely registered regret at the destruction of yet another right hand glove bfore the bald man was upon him.

Edward parried the first blow, which knocked him back several feet, but he was instantly on the attack. He shouted a wordless battle cry and charged forward, then leapt high in the air, slashed, then came down on his toes and slashed again on the backswing. Now it was the turn of the bald man to growl because Edward's first swipe had opned a cut just above his left eye and blood began to trickle down. The second swipe had cut the two lowest buttons off the man's trench coat and it flapped opened to reveal threadbare pants legs of a faded blue material.

The other man aimed the point of his sword at Edward's throat and the speed of his assult took the younger man by surprise. Point on attacks are extremely hard to parry, so Edward dodged and tried to come up behind his opponent. But the man's spin was blindingly fast and Edward had just enough time to bring his arm up to parry the backswing. Metal clanged on metal and both men grunted from the shock, two pairs of feet scrabbled for purchase upon the polished marble floor and Edward found himself being forced back.

The bald man used his superior size and weight to shove Edward back for several more feet before he suddenly slacked the pressure. Edward flailed his arms for balance and the bald man used the opening to hit him in the face with the pommel of his sword. The blow stunned Edward and he landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. When Edward's vision cleared, he could taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth. Worse yet, his opponant was straddling him, the sword raised his over his head in both hands and ready to strike a fatal blow.

"No, Solomon! Don't strike that blasphemer down! Our prophet wants him alive!" The sword stopped in mid-descent and Solomon gasped. Edward looked towards the source of the ringing command and he saw a man of medium height, with long brown hair and a mustache, but dressed in the same style of high buttoned trenchcoat. He was being restrained by two robed Society members who had his arms wrenched behind his back.

Solomon roared in rage and he adandoned his fight with Edward to take on this new threat.

"Infidels!" he screamed. "Take you filthy mitts off him!" He raised his sword to shoulder height and advanced on his friend's captors who were unarmed. The two men gasped in fear and pulled back across the threshold into the small dining hall. As Solomon charged, an array glowed and alchemic energy crackled just before a set of iron bars slammed down from the top of the door frame to cut him off.

The action made Solomon go berzerk. He screamed a challenge again as his eyes flashed and spittle flew from his lips. He clashed his sword with tremendous force against the bars. But they held as multi-colored sparks flared from the contact and the edge of the sword became pitted and bent, then the blade snapped in two with a loud _crack!_

_Time to end this!_ thought Edward. As he curled his left hand into a fist, it brushed against something hard in the pants pocket. Edward suddenly remembered the brass knuckles Ian had given him, a souvenir from the Drachmans who had attacked him two nights ago. Edward slipped his hand into the pocket and his fingers quickly found the metal weapon.

The formerly pitched battle was winding down as the Society members gained the upper hand. Most of the Christians had been pushed back towards the main reception hall, and Solomon was the only remaining danger. The man with the mustache recognized he and his companions had lost the battle, for he said in a resigned voice, "I am lost Solomon, cease struggling to rescue me."

He had been forced into a chair and he was being bound to it with a rope. "Subdue the blasphemer Elric, Solomon, then flee with him and save yourself!"

"Oh, no you don't!" Edward yelled as he charged Solomon. His larger adversary had fought dirty, Edward could still taste blood, plus he felt his left cheek beginning to swell. This time, he was determined to prove he was tougher. "Let's go, muscles-for-brains!"

He leapt and slashed with his arm blade and Solomon parried before he made a thrust of his own, which Edward parried in turn. "You're not so - _ugh!_ - tough when you - _grunt!_ - don't have your - _grrr!_ - big toothpick - _meh!_ anymore, huh?" he panted.

He could tell Solomon was starting to get tired because his slashes and parries were becoming rough and uncoordinated. He even tried to slug Edward a few times, only to yelp with pain when Edward used the brass knuckles to block Solomon's massive fist. But Edward was beginning to tire too, and eager to end the fight, he got reckless. He charged in under another of Solomon's wild swings, pushed the sword away with his automail blade and lined up his left fist for a final punch to the man's midsection.

Edward was at the point of no return in his swing, when he realized too late Solomon's mad slash had just been a feint. With both hands on the sword grip, Solomon brought the pommel crashing down on the back of Edward's skull. He felt a tremendous burst of pain and saw a shower of white sparks just before darkness claimed him.

"He's starting to come 'round."

Edward heard the words as if they came from a long distance. He mumbled something in reply and his right cheek twitched as he fought to wake up. He shook his head and muttered again before he cracked one eye open.

Only to promptly groan and close both eyes tightly. Edward wished he could go back to the blank void his mind has been floating in, because returning consciousness reminded him of the throbbing pain in his head.

"Edward? Can you hear me?"

Edward slowly turned his head to his right and opened his right eye to the narrowest of slits, just enough to see Ian sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed Edward lay in. The spymaster flashed him a grin, but it didn't completely erase the worried look from his eyes.

"Hullo there, Edward. You gave me quite a turn there when I saw you layilng face down in a pool of blood."

"You shoulda seen the other guy," Edward smiled, and mumbled softly. "Solomon is his name and he put up quite a fight."

"Mmmm, yes. Solomon," Ian mused. "He was kneeling on the floor beside you and all done in. He didn't resist when I put him under arrest. The fellow said you were the toughest blasphemer he'd ever tangled with."

Edward opened his other eye, then dared to open both wider, but he groaned and squeezed them shut again when pain lanced through his skull. Ian winched in sympathy then he said "Dr. Luthor thinks you have a mild concussion, so they want you to stay overnight for observation."

A familiar voice interrupted Ian. "You can go home tomorrow, but I want you to stay in bed for at least two more days." It was Dr. Luthor, and he stood opposite Ian while he held a small metal dish in one hand.

"In the meantime, I'm just going to pop this painkiller into your IV line and your poor head will feel better in a jiffy."

Edward hated needles, so he was relieved the syringe went in to the port of the IV line, and not his arm. He also hated to be inactive, but he lay back on his pillow and tried to relax. His pounding headache began to fade after a few minutes and Edward could feel sleep creeping up on him.

But what Ian said next brought him back to full alertness. "Edward, I have good news and I hae bad news. The good news is, you helped to foil the attack on the society headquarters. The ruddy Christians were trying to have another go at the libary."

"And the bad news?" Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Edward's eyelids began to droop again.

"The attack was just a feint," Ian solemnly replied. "The Christians real objective was to kidnap alchemists while we were otherwise engaged."

Edward's scalp began to prickle and his mouth went dry. He had a very bad feeling settle in his stomach like a stone. "And - ?"

"One of those taken was your little brother. Alphonse was kidnapped right out of his lodgings at the college."

Ian was nearly deafened by Edward's outraged squawk of "WHAT?!" which was followed by an obscenity-filled tirade.

"Edward!" Ian protested when the young alchemist tossed his bedsheets into the spymaster's face.

"No, Edward! Don't!" He shouted after he pulled the sheets out of his face in time to see Edward clawing the IV needle out of his left arm. Ian lunged for him, but missed. Blood was trickling from Edward's arm, and his bare backside showed between the gaps of his hospital gown as he stormed from his bed and down the ward towards the exit doors. Ian could only stand there and gape at him.

"COLONEL ELRIC!" barked an angry female voice, Edward's stride hitched and he peeked back briefly before he was full steam ahead again. Mrs. Deadlocke was coming fast and bearing down like grim death upon the elusive alchemist. She scowled at Ian as she glided past, as if to say _A fat lot of good YOU are!_

Edward's feet beat a mismatched tattoo of _slap! clank!, slap! clank!_ as he shoved the ward doors open. He stopped just long enough to note the direction the _exit_ arrow pointed in before he was off down the hall. Mrs. Deadlocke emerged soon after and glided in pursuit. She shouted, "Colonel Elric! Come back here and once! You are not fit to leave this hospital!"

Edward muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath and kept walking, but as he passed a group of six nurses, Mrs. Deadlocked bellowed the words which turned his blood to ice: "Nurses! Seize him!"

His prevouis encounter with the _wolf-nurses_ of St. Pixil's still fresh in his mind, Edward bolted into a dead run down the hallway. He had just burst through another ste of swinging doors when he collided with something large and soft. Edward looked up into the grinning face of a hospital orderly who was the approximate size and shape of a small wall. Before Edward could react, the man swept his arms around him and hoisted him off his feet.

"Let go of me." Edward growled and he tried to clap his hands together, but the orderly had clamped them flat against Edward's sides. Without a word, the orderly calmly carried him back the way he'd come, and Edward began to struggle in earnest.

Ian heard Edward yelling before he'd reached the ward and the sound was magnified a hundred times when the doors popped open. First came Mrs. Deadlocke who glided along like a ship under full sail, her face radiating dignified disapproval of Edward's immature behavior.

Next came six giggling nurses who ran in and took positions around Edward's bed. Lastly came the biggest man Ian had ever seen and he was carrying a struggling, shouting, and cursing Edward Elric.

"Put me down! Leggo, dammit!"

It was all very well coordinated, the orderly threw Edward on the bed and held him down with one hand in the middle of his chest. The nurses then moved in to first strap padded leather cuffs around Edward's wrists and ankles, followed by leather belts across his chest and legs. Edward was trussed up tight and he didn't like it one bit to judge by the increased volume of his swearing.

The feel of the leather restraints awakened painful memories of the times Edward had been held down and drugged. First when he and Al had been captured by the Thule Society in Germany, then by the Drachmans in London. When Dr. Luthor approached him with a filled syringe and crooned, "Easy, easy, Colonel Elric. Calm down now." Edward screamed and flailed wildly.

He looked at Ian and cried, "Help me, Bond! I've got to get out of here and save my brother!"

Ian bent down and hope surged briefly in Edward's chest. "We are on the case, Edward. We know where they've probably taken him and the others..."

"That's not the help I meant, Ian!" Edward snarled, "I want these restraints taken - **OW!**"

While Edward been distracted, Dr. Luthor had crept closer and administered whatever had been in the syringe.

"There, there now Colonel," he said while hooking Edward back up to his IV line. "It's just a little something to help you relax and get a good nights sleep."

Relaxing was the last thing Edward wanted to do, so he pulled very hard with his right arm. There was a loud _snap!_ as the leather parted. Edward promptly reached over to free his left arm.

But the sedative beat him to it. Edward's hand closed on empty air, then it flailed around in an uncoordinated manner before it fell back to his side. "Damn..." he muttered just before he spiraled into darkness.


	27. Chapter 27

**And All Manner Of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters.

**Author's note: **This is another flashback chapter to Edward and Alphonse's adventures in the "machine (our) world". This one is gonna be brutal, folks.

**Warning: **violence, sexual violence, blood, and character death.

Chapter 27: In which a painful anniversary is observed

_Near Stuttgart, Janurary 1925_

The Thulists came just before dawn...

It had been bitterly cold all week, and Edward, Alphonse, and Noa each wore several layers of clothing to bed, plus as their coats. They all hudddled together underneath all the blankets they could scrounge, but they were still barely enough to keep them warm. Edward lay closest to the caravan window while he molded himself to Alphonse's back, and his little brother did the same for Noa. All three would shiver for an hour or so before their combined body warmth won out and they could fall asleep. As usual, Edward was the last to enter the Sandman's realm at bedtime, and the first to leave it in the morning.

The wind had died down sometime after midnight, and the clouds had cleared away only an hour ago. Outside the air was still and extremely cold, so sound carried a long way. A barking dog somewhere in Stuttgart had woken Edward up. He lay very still and tried to fall back to sleep. When that didn't happen right away, he wondered how far away the dog really was while he listened to the soft and even breathing of Al and Noa.

Then his mind left the question of the dog entirely and Edward wondered who would be found frozen to death today. The latest victim of the killing cold had been an elderly Gypsy woman, and the day before that, the two small sons of the man who ran one of the carnival game booths. Only last week, Ed and Al had been startled by the keening wail of a young woman. Her week-old baby had died, despite her wrapping it in blankets and holding it close to her. She had wandered off after a hasty burial in the woods - and right into the path of an oncoming freight train. The grave was re-opened and what was left of her joined her baby.

Edward was just dozing off again when the slam of a car door brought him awake - this sound was very close. His searching ears caught the thumps of booted feet crunching gravel, then frozen grass. Al stirred and muttered something, then he went back to sleep. Noa turned her head and laid large, dark and frightened eyes upon Edward's.

"I'll see what it is," he whispered urgently to her. "If its trouble, I'll hold them off while you and Al escape into the woods."

Noa's only reply was a nod as she silently sat up in bed. Edward cautiously crawled out from under his blnakets and gritted his teeth as the cold snaked it's coils around his body. He stepped out over Al's sleeping form and felt around on the floor for his boots. After he slipped them on, Edward tiptoed to a window and pulled back the blanket "drape" which kept the cold at bay. His insides turned to ice at what he saw.

Two cars, and a truck marked with Thule Society insignia stood in the road which the carnival caravan had been parked just off of. Edward guessed they had shut off their engines and coasted in. Bodies were piling out of the truck and forming into short ranks. Edward counted twenty, perhaps twenty-five of them. Not a lot of men, but if they had guns, the bastards wouldn't need many men to hold twice as many gypsies and carnies at bay. A man with a swagger stick stood before them and gestured, and when he pointed in the direction of Edward's caravan, he let go of the curtain and stepped back.

_DAMN!_

This wasn't the usual "harass the non-Aryans" pogrom, he was sure they were really after him and Al. Edward cursed again. He should have known this would happen. The Thulists captured in the raid, the raid which came too late to save poor Alfons Heidreich had seen that the 'Shambalan' had come back. And he'd brought his brother with him.

Noa had her boots on and she was hurridly making a small bundle with the little food they had: bread, cheese, a tiny jar of peanut butter...

Then a gun shot made both of them jump and it woke Al up. "Brother?!" he rubbed his eys and sat up. "What is going on?"

"Trouble, Al. Get your boots on! Hurry!" Noa urged. She didn't have to tell Al twice. He slid out of bed while saying "Brrrr!", then pulled on his boots and then began to fold the blankets.

"Bring just three, that's all you have time to fold!" hissed Noa.

Screams and shouts were heard outside, then running footsteps. Other carnival employees were already heading for the woods. The noise level increased when soldiers began kicking in doors and yelling "Come out! Come out, now!"

Some more gunshots sounded, then a woman began to wail. A gruff voice shouted "Shut up, bitch!" and another gunshot cut the scream off like a knife.

Al gasped and Noa screamed when a booted foot smashed in the door of the caravan and Edward acted without hesitation. He batted the soldier's rifle away with one hand before he punched the soldier hard with his automail fist. Another soldier charged in and Edward kicked him in the stomach so the former folded in the middle like a piece of wet cardboard.

When Edward yelled, "Come on!" Noa leapt like a deer over the fallen men and Al followed close behind. Edwaard brought up the rear after he picked up one of the rifles. He didn't know much about guns and probably couldn't hit the braodside of a barn, but the sight of the weapon would have a good deterrent value.

Luck was with them, the lingering darkness, plus confusion caused by gun smoke and people screaming and running every which way made it difficult for the soldiers to pick them out. They twisted and turned between the caravans before they burst out in to the open.

Only fifty yards of bare ground lay between them and the safety of the woods. Three pairs of booted feet pounded fast and hard over frozen ground - 40, 30, 20, 15, 10 - they were so close.

Then, another gunshot rang out.

Everything happened at once. Something liquid blossomed from Noa's back just below her right shoulder and she cried out. Time froze as Noa seemed suspended just above the ground for an instant. Then it jerked forwards again as she slammed hard into the ground, the fall knocking the wind out of her.

"NOA!" Both brothers screamed at the same time. Edward tossed the rifle aside and raced over to her. She'd taken the bullet smack in the middle of her shoulder blade, and her hand clutched spasmodically at the area which was already soaked with blood. Her collarbone was probably broken too. She wouldn't be able to stand, much less run.

She was telling Edward to leave her, but he'd already scooped her into his arms. He saw Al grab the food bundle and he shouted, "Keep your head down!"

Al ducked his head just before a bullet smacked into a tree trunk over it. With Noa's added weight, Edward couldn't go any faster than a rapid trot, and even that motion caused her pain. But they made the woods without further incident.

Not knowing where he was going, Edward simply followed Alphonse who blindly crashed through the underbrush. Branches whipped him in the face, roots caught at his feet, and thorns tore at his clothing. After he stumbled badly enough to nearly drop Noa, Edward called to Al, "Stop! We have to stop!"

Red faced and panting, Al juddered to a halt. His face was criss-crossed with scratches, there were small twigs stuck in his sleep-mussed hair, and his chocolate brown eyes were wide with fear. Shouts, and gunshots could still be heard, but they sounded far away. Perhaps, they could still escape.

"Al, Noa's been shot and she's bleeding badly. We have to find a hiding place. Maybe I can extract the bullet. Or at least bandage the wound and stop the bleeding."

Al nodded and gasped out, "This way, brother! I know a good hiding place!"

He would know. When he wasn't helping Edward maintain the carnival rides, A; and other kids his age would spend hours exploring nearby woods. Noa wasn't crying o ut so much now, but she was trembling uncontrollably and was unresponsive to Edward. _She's going into shock_.

Alphonse led the way deeper into the woods, he walked slowly so Edward could keep up.

"Here, brother." he finally said. They were next to a small chuckling creek, one bank of which rose steeply. This was undercut in some places and one bit underneath a tree was hollowed out into a small cave. Edward smiled at Al to let him know he approved. The space was deep enough to shelter them from the wind, and the creek came almost to the lip of the cave. This would make it easier to defend. He had to duck to get inside, but the wind was cut off after just a few steps. Al spread one of the blankets on the floor of the cave, and Edward gently set Noa down in a sitting position. His arm muscles screamed in protest as blood pushed back into them, but he dare not take any time to massage the pain away.

He took a switchblade knife from his left pants pocket and clicked it open. Noa's eyes widened as Edward cut her bloody clothing away, she knew he would use the knife blade to dig the bullet out if he had to. But he sighed with relief once the shoulder was exposed. Blood was oozing from an exit hole just below her collar bone. "It's a through and through, Al. But we have to stop the bleeding."

Al just grunted in reply, he had already pulled off his coat and now he removing layer after layer of shirts. Edward followed suit until he got to the last layer, a white undershirt which had been softened by many washings. He hissed as the frigid air stung his bare skin, but he set to work with the knife and cut a slit in the material before he ripped the shirt into two pieces.

He gave the knife to Al who used it to cut his own undershirt into strips, while Edward folded his two pieces into square pads. He handed one to Al and pressed the other against the exit hole. One hand on a square and the other on a strip, the brothers quickly and efficiently bandanged Noa.

Edward took back the knife and he used it to cut another shirt down one side. Then he folded it to make a sling to support Noa's right arm. Al quickly tied it behind her neck, his teeth were already chattering from the intense cold. While his brother redressed, Edward gently urged Noa back into a prone position, then he covered her with the other two blankets.

All was silent outside their cave, and a light snow began to fall in the weak light of dawn. Edward re-buttoned his coat and blew on the frozen fingers of his left hand before he dug in his pockets for his fur-lined gloves. The brothers huddled close on either side of Noa and tried to stay warm.

"Brother?" Al asked anxiously. "What do we do now?"

"I dunno, Al. We can stay here for a little while, but I don't think we can return to the carnival. Those Thulists came for us, so we'll have to make our own way."

Alphonse nodded in agreement. "We have to find a doctor for Noa. She's being very brave, but I can tell she's in a lot of pain. She needs proper shelter too."

Edward idly chewed his lower lip. Finding a German doctor who would treat a Gypsy would be difficult, and even if they succeeded, he wasn't sure they could afford it. He shivered and huddled deeper into his coat. The few marks he had were safe in a hidden inside pocket, but they would be needed to buy food.

The light outside strengthened. Al and Noa fell off into fitful dozes, but Edward stayed awake and watched the creek flow. He tried to formulate a plan of escape, but his eyelids were _so_ heavy, he hadn't gotten enough sleep. They had barely dropped closed when a shout rudely jerked him awake.

"Open your eyes, you maggots! Find them!"

Booted feet thumped nearby and Edward held his breath. He sent a silent plea up to a deity he didn't believe in. _Please don't let them find us!_ The footfalls moved away and he quietly blew out stale air and relaxed.

Then Noa cried out - loudly. Edward whirled and clapped a hand over her mouth, but he nearly let go when he felt how hot her face was. Noa was burning with fever - and the damage had been done. He roughly shook Al awake as several pairs of booted feet thumped closer to their hiding place.

"I heard a cry!" someone called out. "Was it you?"

"No," a gruff voice replied. "It's them, they are hiding nearby. Jump down to the creek and search the bank!"

Edward mumbled a string of obscentities under his breath, then he got up to creep closer to the mouth of the small cave. He crouched there while the nimble fingers of his left hand toyed with the switchblade in his coat pocket. Something moved above him and a head popped upside down into his field of view. Edward clicked the swtichblade open, but the head went back up before he could stab it.

"Down here, sir! They're down here!"

There would be no escape now, but Edward Elric resolved to go down fighting. He looked back and hissed "Protect Noa!" to Al, then forwards again when a group of four soldiers jumped down and approached the cave. He bared his teeth and growled when he heard the gruff voice shout a question from above.

"What do you see? Report!"

"Just one person," responded one of the soldiers. "He looks like a boy, long blond hair and yellow eyes...um - he's got a knife!"

"Hess wants him and his brother alive, so try not to kill him," came the deadpan reply. "Do you think you can handle one little man?"

The soldier, a tall, blue-eyed blond who reminded Edward of a grown-up Fletcher Tringham cautiously advanced on the snarling Edward. "C'mon now, little Shambalan, give me the knife," he walked alowly and crooned quietly as if he was trying to calm a skittish horse. "It's all right, little Shambalan, no one's gonna hurt you. C'mon now, give me the knife."

That was the second time he had called Edward "little", so - he let him have it.

An instant later, the blond soldier was staggering backwards and cursing because his left hand was bleeding fiercely from a deep cut to the palm. "He's a devil!" the man cried out as another soldier tried his luck.

He approached Edward with his hands held wide while he said, "Take it easy. Take it easy. Take it easy", over and over again. Believing three repetitions were enough, he suddenly dashed forward and attempted to wrap his arms around Edward. But the 'little Shambalan' had already ducked, spun, and kicked the soldier's legs out from under him.

A third soldier then rushed forwards, but he tripped over the legs of his fallen comrade and received a vicious kick in the face for his trouble. Edward spun again and slashed the fourth soldier in the arm, forcing him into a hasty retreat.

He grinned and waved the knife in the air as he taunted the Thule soldiers. "Does anyone else want a piece of me?"

The sound of skittering pebbles above his head warned Edward to look up, but he was a little too late. An instant later, his knees buckled and he went down under the weight of another soldier who had jumped on him from the top of the bank. Edward was swiftly borne to the ground, but he was able to twist around quickly enough to stab the man in the leg.

But the gesture was too little and too late. More soldiers grabbed him, the knife was twisted out of his grasp and his arms were forced behind his back.

Edward kicked out vigorously and he heard a curse when he connected with someone's shin, but his feet were stilled when heavy weights landed on his legs. Then he heard Al cry out from the cave and the sound was followed by a high-pitched scream of pain from Noa. Edward struggled even harder as he yelled, "Let go of me you bastards!"

He turned and raised his head slightly in time to see a kicking and struggling Al dragged past by two soldiers. Two others came close behind with tight grips on Noa's arms. She stumbled and fell, then screamed again when her captors continued to haul her along. Edward almost howled in his frustration, "Stop it, you bastards! Stop it! You're hurting her!"

"Shut him up!" the gruff voice ordered, and white sparks spattered across a black background in Edward's vision when a rifle butt slammed into the side of his head. Noa continued to scream even after he lost consciousness.

Edward groaned deeply when he came to. His head felt like it was splitting wide open. He tried to rub his temples, to ease the lancing pain away, but his hands seemed to be stuck behind his back.

"Brother?"

Edward's ears pricked up at the sobbing note in Alphonse's voice and he blinked rapidly before he opened his eyes. Edward became gradually aware he was laying on his right side, and he couldn't move his hands because they'd been bound together at the wrists. Alphonse knelt in an unnatural crouched position at his left, his wrists also bound. Similarly trussed were several other carnival workers.

Most of them were Gypsies, but Edward also saw some pale faces mixed in and he recognized a few as the handful of Jewish employees of the carnival. So the bastards were already targeting those they considered to be at fault for Germany's loss in the Great War. Edward gritted his teeth and grunted with the effort, it took him three tries, but he finally rolled on to his knees.

A woman was weeping with low-pitched sobs and the sound twisted a knife in Edward's chest. He hated to hear women cry, and he turned his head and opened his mouth, prepared to speak words of comfort. But the sight which met his eyes when he looked to his right stopped the words in their tracks.

It was Noa. Although she also crouched on her knees, she wasn't bound like the rest. She supported herself on her left hand while her right was clutched protectively close to her chest.

"N - Noa?" Edward gasped. Noa's left eye was swollen shut, the skin around it bruised purple. Her lips were also swollen, blood trickled from splits in those lips and also from one corner of her mouth. There were more bruises on her face and she had a shallow cut on her left cheek. Her dress had been ripped and her breasts exposed, as well as the jury-rigged bandage, which had bled through. But what shocked Edward most was the large pool of very red blood directly underneath her body.

"They raped her, brother," Alphonse gasped between his sobs. "Almost all of them took their turn, and they hit her too. She's bled so much, brother, I didn't know humans could lose so much blood."

"She miscarried, that's why," responded a gruff voice. "But it's to be expected, Gypsies are no better than rutting barnyard animals. The slut probably opened her legs for every man here. It's best the next generation of this scum dies in the womb."

Edward raised his head higher and glared at the owner of the voice, an older man with a long, angular face, iron-grey hair cut in a crew cut, and cold blue eyes. He had come up behind Noa and he stood regarding her as if she was something he'd just scraped off his shoe. "Poor thing, I think it should be put out of it's misery," he cocked his head at Edward and gave him a knowing, icy smile.

"What do you think?"

Edward never had a chance to answer. With one smooth motion, the gruff-voiced Thule officer un-snapped his pistol holster, drew the weapon out and flipped off the safety. He then stuck the automatic behind Noa's left ear and pulled the trigger three times. Edward flinched with each report as Noa's skull seemed to explode outward with tremendous force. Blood, bone, and brain matter flew every which way. A thin mist of red splashed onto Edward's face, clothes, and into his hair. He winced and jerked his head back when a tiny piece of bone stung his cheek.

The suddenness of Noa's execution had sucked away all sound but the gunshots, but now it suddenly rushed back into the vacuum. Women were screaming, and men were shouting in outrage and horror. Alphonse was shrieking Noa's name again and again as her body fell sideways and hit the ground with a soft thump. The wind kicked up and snowflakes began to drift down again, they landed in Nia's hair and sparkled like stars among the bloody strands before they melted.

Alphonse was crying openly, and huge tears slid down his face. He was trying to speak, but he couldn't form words, which caused Edward's own throat to close up. His own tears welled in his eyes, hot and thick ones of many emotions: hopelessness, sorrow, anger, and fear. Not for the first time he wished Mustang had done a better job of preventing Al from stowing away. Now his little brother was suffering, and a woman he cared for was dead because he had been unable to protect them.

"Take these two to Hess." the Thule officer ordered, and Alphonse cried out in panic as a burlap sack was thrown over his head. The same was done to Edward just before rough hands yanked him to his feet. He was half dragged, and half pushed for several yards before he was bodily picked up and tossed onto a hard surface. Edward grunted once when he landed, then again when a soft body collided with him. He flinched when a loud thump sounded just above his head. The soft body which lay next to him was sobbing, and Edward realized it was Al.

"Al?" Edward struggled forwards until he could rest his forehead on Al's hair. "Al, I -" Edward fell silent, he didn't know what to say.

_"It's all right."_? Things certainly weren't 'all right'.

"_It'll be okay."_? It was obvious things were not 'okay'.

The space they were in rocked several times, and a car engine rumbled to life, then he could feel movement. They were in terrible trouble, tied up and tossed into the trunk of a car and being taken who knows where.

Edward tried to will himself to relax, he couldn't do anything now. But maybe once they were taken out of the trunk and un-tied, they could seize a chance to escape.

Just maybe...

_Near Oxford, January, 1926_

Al's screams were what jerked Edward away from a plesant dream of home. Then a loud thump broke him fully awake and he fumbled for the light switch. The sickly yelow glow revealed Al had fallen out of his bed and he was thrashing wildly in a tight cocoon of blankets.

"Al!" Edward hissed. "Al, wake up!" He kicked away his own blankets, and two steps brought him to his brother who wsa still crying out and thrashing on the floor. He knelt down and cradled Al with one arm while he tried to unwrap the twisted blankets with the other. All the while he did this, Edward crooned softly "Al, it's okey, you're just having a bad dream. Wake up Al, wake up."

Thumping footsteps came from the hall outside and the bedroom door burst open. "What happened!?"

It was Simpkins, one of the valets. Around his legs peered the anxious face of Lincoln, the boot boy. "It's all right, Simpkins," Edward whispered. "Al just had a bad dream, so go back to bed."

Lincoln looked dubious, but he allowed Simpkins to chivvy him out of the room. The servants at Burnlae Hall didn't meddle in the affairs of others. Alphonse had quieted down by now and he was awake, but still sobbing. Edward stroked his little brother's hair and whispered soothing words to him. He knew just what had brought on this night terror - in two days it would be the anniversary of the Thule raid, and Noa's murder. He looked over at the alarm clock on his nightstand - just a few minutes to five a.m. - roughly the same time the raid had begun.

"Get your pillow Al, you can sleep with me for a few hours."

Alphonse sniffed a few times before he pulled himself out of his blanket next and fetched his pillow. Edward settled himself at the opposite edge of his bed in order to make room for Al, who snuggled next to him. With his face buried in his big brother's chest, there was a little squirming around to get comfortable, then Al sighed quietly and went back to sleep. The tracks of tears still visible on his face. Edward stayed awake for a while longer, he could hear faint noises from the next room and in the hall outside. Most of the other servants had to get up earlier, some as soon as four a.m. to start their duties.

Edward's position as tutor was unique. Although he slept in the servant's quarters, and ate his meals down in the servant's dining hall, he was considered above most of the servants. Yet he wasn't quite family. The status of a tutor was akin to that of governess, between worlds and rather lonely.

Edward was still musing over this dichotomy when sleep finally claimed him.

The alarm jerked him awake at seven, and for a moment he couldn't recall why Al was in bed with him. He shook his little brother's shoulder, "Al! Wake up! C'mon, it's time to get up!"

Al mumbled and buried his face deeper into the bedclothes, which obliged Edward to be stern, "Alphonse Phillipus Elric! GET UP NOW!"

He tossed all the blankets to the foot of the bed and shook Al's shoulder harder.

"BRO-THER!!" Al protested. "Stop it! Lemme sleep!"

Edward grumbled and clambered over Al to get out of the bed. He could stay in a while longer and return to consciousness gradually, but Edward had to get ready for work. Their bedroom was on the fourth floor and rather chilly, yet still more bearable than that carnival caravan had been. A maid had brought a jug of hot water while they had been sleeping and set it on the washstand opposite their beds. Although cooled off some, it was still warm enough.

Edward stripped to the waist and poured some of the water into a large porcelain bowl before he washed his face and shaved. After he rinsed off the soap and dried his face, he went to the wardrobe which stood next to the washstand and riffled through the hangers. His employer had given him a new suit for Christmas and Edward has purchased some shirts for Alphonse and himself in the village of Burnlae Halt. His wardrobe was tiny compared to that of the young man he tutored, but some servants had fewer clothes than he and Al did.

He dressed with care: snowy white shirt, tan pants and waistcoat, brown ascot tie, and shoes. Edward frowned at his reflection in a mirror set inside the wardrobe door as he folded down his collar and slipped elastic gaiters onto his sleeves. He had to go to the viscount's study after breakfast and discuss Edward's lesson plans for the next month. The university entrance exams were set for early March and Viscount Burnlae wanted Edward to bear down hard on his lone student. This would be the boy's final chance to get into Oxford, so a lot of pressure was being placed upon his tutor to deliver results.

Edward finished tying his shoes and he looked back at the bed. Even without the blankets, Alphonse was still deep asleep. He lay on his stomach, hands underneath him, head was turned towards the room and he was snoring softly. Edward stuck an elastic tie between his teeth and ran a brush through his hair before he put down the brush and reached back to gather the thick blond strands into a neat pony tail.

At the same time, he walked over to the bed and gave it a series of hard kicks. "It's 7.20 Alphonse." _kick_ "Get." _kick _"Up." _kick_ "Now!" _kick_, he loudly enunciated between the tie in his mouth.

The last kick had done the trick as Alphonse jerked awake, and then glared at Edward. "It's 7.20," he repeated as he fastened his pony tail in place. "Get washed up before the water turns stone cold."

Alphonse grumbled loudly as he crawled out of bed, grumbled while he poured the water Edward had left in the pitcher out into the basin, and he continued to grumble up until the moment he splashed water onto his face. Then he shrieked, "Brother! This is freezing!"

But he said it to an empty room because Edward was already out the door and heading down the back stairs on the way to the servant's dining hall for breakfast.

When Edward came into the basement kitchen area, the head butler, Mr. Hudson had already been up for an hour and he was sorting the morning post in his office. He usually just nodded and grunted "Good morning", but Mr. Hudson called to him today. "A letter came for you, Mr. Smith-Jones."

Edward took the envelope and looked at it curiously. The envelope was small and square, on heavy cream-colored paper, quality stuff. The writing was small and round, distinctly feminine, and it smelled faintly of lavender toilet water. This scent was favored by several of the maids and Edward assumed it was another of that species of anonymous letter called a _mash note_. He had received one or two a month from female staff members who had developed a crush on him. The one before this had taken a distinctly erotic tilt and Edward had discreetly burned it as soon as he possibly could.

Aware Mr. Hudson was looking at him with an odd, lopsided smile, Edward mumbled an abstracted "thank you" in the butler's direction before he resumed walking towards the servant's dining hall.

His post sorting job done, Mr. Hudson crossed the hall to the wine cellar and began taking inventory. He was keeping a running mental tally of the number of bottles of port he would need to purchase when a loud crash, a heavy thud, and a female scream ruined his concentration. Running footsteps sounded past the open door and shouts sounded down the hall. Hudson came out when Lincoln the boot boy called for him in his squeaky voice.

"Lincoln? What's going on?"

"Oh, Mr. Hudson, sir!" the boy cried. "It's Mr. Smith-Jones! He was reading a letter he'd gotten and the lads were ribbing him about it when his face went chalk-white and he fainted dead away!"

_Stuttgart, January 1925_

Alphonse wept quietly while the brothers were jostled in the trunk of the car. He said to Edward behind him, "Brother, the man called Noa a _slut_. That's not true, it can't be true - right, brother?"

Edward didn't answer immediately because he'd just pulled his knees up to his chest in an attempt to bring his arms around to the front. Because he'd still been unconscious when his wrists were tied, his captors hadn't bound him quite so tightly. But the layers of clothes he wore and the tight confines of the trunk made it a difficult task to accomplish. He stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and grunted with the effort. _Just a few...more...inches...THERE!_

Edward's left foot slipped through the loop and he gratefully straightened the leg out. His right foot was still caught, but now he had enough slack to untie Al. "Al, can you move down and back a few inches? Yeah, that's good."

His clever fingers felt the knots and began to work then loose, and Al was free within two minutes. After he massaged his sore wrists for a bit, Al returned the favor and untied the ropes around Edward's wrists.

Edward could just see his brother's large dark brown eyes, mostly because they still glinted with unshed tears. A few were snaking slowly down Al's cheeks and Edward impulsively reached out and wiped them away with his still-gloved hands.

When Al sniffed and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, Edward finally responded, "He was wrong Al. Noa wasn't a slut, because she slept with only one man. I - I," suddenly Edward couldn't seem to get the words out. "I...was the father of her baby."

**Author's note:** I finally got my own copy of the "Conqueror of Shambala" DVD and I realize now that I have been dating the flashback chapters wrong. I thought the movie had taken place in the fall of 1921, but it really had been late 1923! (Which makes a 3:1 - Europe:Amestris time gap - three years passes in our world for every year in the alchemic world) So I've done some adjusting to this chapter and a subsequent one. Plus I will go back and correct the earlier flashback chapters. I probably will also have to add a year to the amount of time (I originally said "roughly two and one half years") the brothers spent in our world. So the brothers reunited and returned to our world in November of 1923 and they left Munich soon after the funeral of Alfons Heidreich. The movie didn't make it clear, but I think Noa traveled with them and they eventually hooked up with this carnival in early 1924. Noa became pregnant in the late fall or early winter of 1924 because she still wasn't showing by the events of this chapter.


	28. Chapter 28

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own FMA, except for any OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**Author's note:** This is still a flashback chapter to certain events which happened in the lives of Edward and Alphonse during their time in the "machine world" during the late fall of 1924, and January 1926.

_Chapter 28_: In which Edward dances around, plus a reunion is proposed.

_Cologne, October/November, 1924_

Munich is the site of the most famous version of Oktoberfest, but it's not the only one for such celebrations are held all over Germany. The _Kinder Karnival_ had set up shop just outside of Cologne in early October, and the grounds were thronged with visitors from early afternoon till late evening.

Edward and Al were up early each morning to inspect the carnival rides, they greased the gears and checked for worn parts and loose bolts. After the carnival opened, the brothers were kept busy all day with the ferrying of supplies to the various games booths and cleaning up litter. The carnival went on till ten o'clock at night and they helped secure booths and clean up the grounds a second time.

It wasn't an easy life for the brothers, but neither was it particularly hard. Because the carnival moved around regularly, they could both keep their eyes and ears open for news of Hiskossen and stay one step ahead of the by now re-formed Thule Society.

These chores took up another hour or so and Alphonse would be exhausted by the time they were done. He would go to bed, but Edward would stay up for while longer and watch his fellow employees head for the nearest dance hall once their duties were done. Because Edward was a light sleeper, he would hear then return at dawn or just after. They would sway with weariness (or just drunkenness) and sing bawdy songs in off-key tenors or baritones. Edward never considered joining them until one morning in early October while he walked along the tracks of _Der Kinder Koaster_ with a co-worker by the name of Shem.

Edward has just paused to tighten a bolt when Shem abruptly spoke to him,

"You are such a sobersides, Edward."

Shem had never spoken more than "Good morning", or "See you tomorrow" before, so Edward stopped what he was doing and he simply stared in astonishment. "Wha - what did you say?"

"You never come dancing with us at night. You just do your work and go to bed once it's done. And I think you would have fun, there are lots of lonely frauleins who want a handsome man to dance with all night long."

Edward's cheeks warmed at this statement because he'd never considered himself to be _handsome_. Actually he never considered how he looked at all, besides narsicissm was more like the speed of pretty boys like Roy Mustang. Plus, he couldn't dance. Well, he could dance a _little_, but not well well enough to risk doing it in public. And he told Shem so, but the man just exploded with laughter. His laughing fit went on so long, Edward began to get a little annoyed. He wasn't handsome and he didn't dance well. These were immutable facts, what was so damn funny?

After morning maintenance was completed, Edward let Shem drag him over to the caravan of Lady Carlton, the carnival's bearded lady. That wasn't her real name of course, but most of the carnies used aliases and lied about their origins. Carnivals were analogous to the French Foreign Legion, except with women.

Lady Carlton could also quite cut a rug and she supplemented her wages by offering dance lessons to anyone who wanted to learn. But she admitted after an hour that Edward was a special case. It wasn't that he had two left feet, he was quite agile and coordinated. Plus he learned the steps of even the most complicated dances quickly. It's just that Edward wasn't used to being touched - especially by the opposite sex.

When she gave him a broom to dance a quickstep with, he would whirl it around competently enough, but when she put one hand on his shoulder and the other hand in one of his, Edward tended to stiffen like a board. She finally exploded after a few minutes of practicing a stumbling tango, "Dammit, Bauer! Loosen up!"

She dropped the one hand which had been on his shoulder and dug the fingernails into an unsuspecting buttock. Edward jumped several inches and emitted a startled yelp before he came back to Earth, but at least the shock had loosened him up a bit. Her helper, Lydia, the tattooed lady re-started the tango record.

"All right Edward. One, two, three four. That's it, now stop and snap your head to the right, then left. _Much_ better - bend your knees and let your hips sway - that's why you have joints, there! One, two, three, four, aannddd...dip! And back up again. Very good. I'll have to pinch your ass more often."

After Edward returned to the caravan he shared with Al and Noa, both chortled at the thought of him dancing. It was lunchtime and Noa ladled out steaming hot vegetable barley soup and handed out rye rolls before she asked, "But why go to all this trouble? You see how tired and hung over the other men are in the morning."

Edward rubbed his automail fingertip together. "Money, Noa. Money. The operators of the Konig Dance Hall will pay me to dance with the female patrons. And extra income will come in handy. Besides, I will only do this on Saturdays, the religious laws forbid carnival operations on Sundays."

Noa had to admit the logic of Edward's statement. "Alphonse is outgrowing his clothes, and you need new boots."

"You will need a coat too, Noa," Alphonse pointed out between mouthfulls of soup. "Your shawls won't be enough when winter really sets in."

Noa ducked her head and her cheekbones darkened. The trio had been thrown together by circumstance, but they interacted almost like a family.

After the final clean up duties that evening, the mostly male employees put on their dancing clothes and headed for the Konig. But Lady Carlton didn't considere Edward to be quite ready, and she insisted he practice for another hour each night for the next week. They would whirl around the small square of mostly flat ground next to her caravan and she taught him all the popular dances: the Charleston, the tango, the Black Bottom, quick step, samba, and the waltz.

He gradually became more accustomed to dancing closely with a woman, although Metta (Lady Carlton's real name) or Lydia were occasionally obliged to pinch his backside a few times more. Edward chose the following Saturday night as his _debut_. Although he felt he could probably dance in his sleep the Konig would be so crowded no one would notice if he made any mistakes.

Edward and Al returned to the caravan that evening to find Noa had already prepared a bath for him. Merely a galvanized tin tub half full of steaming hot water, which was set at one end of the caravan, yet it looked like nirvana to a dirty and sweaty Edward. He would have to bathe standing up, but Noa had rigged a curtain for privacy and somehow acquired a bar of good quality soap (Edward suspected she had traded one of her shawls for it) and set out a washcloth and towel.

When he emerged twenty minutes later, his skin pink and tingling, he found his evening clothes already laid out: a snowy white cotton tuxedo front shirt, white silk gloves, a black cotton waistcoat with the lapels faced with satin and satin covered buttons. Black cotton pants with narrow satin stripes down the outer seams, and a short black jacket, also of cotton with more of the satin covered buttons. Noa had taken his dark brown work shoes and cleaned off most of the mud, then shone them as best she could. They didn't really match, but Edward doubted anyone would notice.

What really surprised him is that all the clothes fit, and he asked Noa with a suspicious note in his voice, "How many of your shawls did you trade for this?"

Noa looked insulted and she raised her pretty chin high and defiantly shot back, "NONE! I earned the money to buy these by the honest sweat of my own brow. While you were out on maintenance in the morning, I would go into town and clean houses."

Edward blushed crimson with shame.

"I'm sorry, Noa," he mumbled and hung his head.

Noa didn't reply right away, so he cautiously inched his gaze back upwards. To his even greater surprise, she was still in her defiant pose, but she'd traded her frown for a broad smile. He puffed out a breath in relief and Noa relaxed too.

"But I have something to confess," she said shyly, "I bought those clothes from an undertaker's overstock. They had been made to be the burial suit for a teenage boy."

Both brothers blinked and Alphonse looked down at his clothes - dark blue wool pants and a grey fleece sweatshirt. "Not yours Al, those came from a church jumble sale."

Al rolled his eyes in mock relief.

Noa had even prepared a little snack for Edward, half a roast beef sandwich (she gave the other half to Al), and some carrot sticks. These would give his body "fuel" for dancing and help soak up any alchohol he might drink. As a finishing touch, Noa flipped up the collar of his shirt and fastened a black silk tie around his neck. She tucked the end of the tie into his waistcoat and helped him slip on his jacket.

"Noa?" Edward said in a perplexed tone. "It doesn't button." The jacket edges didn't even meet, and Edward was even more confused by the non-functional buttons.

"It's okay, Edward," Noa explained. "It's not meant to button, just to frame the waistcoat - like so."

Edward pulled on and buttoned the white silk gloves before he replaced the elastic hair tie securing his ponytail with a length of black silk ribbon. He had washed his hair earlier that day and Noa had trimmed off any loose ends, so the heavy length of hair swung nicely.

"You look very handsome, brother..," Alphonse said between yawns, and Edward blushed. His flush deepened when Al finished. "...you'll have to fight the ladies off with a stick."

Someone knocked on the door of their caravan and a voice called, "Edward! Are you ready?"

"Coming, Shem!" Edward yelled back as Noa brought his long brown winter coat and he shrugged into it. The chilly night wind would go right through his clothes, plus Edward decided he didn't want any one to see his outfit until after they arrived at the dance hall.

With a feeling like he was on the way to his own funeral, Edward said 'good night' to Noa and Al before he opened the caravan door and joined a large group of men who were walking by on their way into Cologne.

The walk to town took all of ten minutes, but it was past midnight when they finally neared the dance hall. The Konig was lit up bright as day and music could be heard blaring from it a mile away. At the front entrance, people could be seen still streaming into the building at this late hour. Shem whispered into Edward's ear, "The party is just getting started, and it will go on past dawn," before he took Edward's left arm and tugged lightly on it. "We're employees, so we have to use the back door."

After they passed through a set of double doors at the back of the dance hall, the group had entered a large vestibule. It was blessedly warm inside, and dim, thanks to the soft light from several electric lamps bolted to the walls.

A door to their left was marked _Ladies's Dressing Room_, and it's opposite said _Gentlemens's Dressing Room_. Another set of double doors directly ahead led to a wide stairway. Edward could see through the glass panes in the doors, he assumed the stairs led to the dance floor above. He could hear muffled music filtered through the floor, and a sort of soft thunder marked the thuds of hundreds, maybe thousands of pairs of dancing feet.

The rest of the wall space in the vestibule was given over to wooden benches, and nearly every available inch was occupied by chattering women dressed to the nines. "Hen party," mumbled Shem. Then he suddenly barked, "Look sharp, everyone, here comes Herr Torpedo!"

Edward looked up in confusion, but Shem put a finger to his lips.

"Ach, same gang of idiots tonight?" grumbled a voice which sounded as if it's owner gargled gravel.

"Yes, sir, Herr Schwartz, and one new fellow," answered Shem as he put his hands on Edward's shoulders and propelled him forwards.

Edward found himself face to face with a bald man who was roughly the same size and shape as Alex Armstrong, but not quite as friendly-looking. His bullet-shaped head shone under the lights, and icy blue eyes glittered ominously beneath bushy black eyebrows. The man was clean shaven, and didn't appear to have any lips. Perhaps he had been careless with the razor and shaved them off. What he _did_ have were very large, very white, and very square-looking teeth, and he showed them when he said, "Take your coat off, boy, and let's see what you look like."

He gave a low whistle and grinned in a way Edward did not like when he saw the suit. "You look like a girl," Schwartz grumbled before he reached forward with one massive hand and grabbed Edward by the crotch. He ignored the younger man's yelp of surprise and continued, "But you've got the right _equipment_, so the ladies will just love you, if you know what I mean."

Edward had gone rigid with shock, so no, he _didn't_ know what Schwartz meant, but he wished he could drop through the floor and tunnel his way back to the caravan. Schwartz shoved a clipboard with a pencil tied to it into Edward's hands, "Fill this out, but skip whatever you don't want to answer. Then you'll be issued an employee badge and a dance card. It's up to you to accurately fill out how many partners you dance with, because that determines how much you'll be paid. If the partner wants _special services_, the price will be up to you to negotiate. The Konig Dance Hall is a high-class joint and we don't mess around with sordid things like that, got it?"

Edward just nodded numbly and he allowed Shem to lead him into the _Gentlemens's Dressing Room_ where he found a chair and sat down to fill out the form. He wrote down his name, age, height and hair color, but he left everything else blank, including eye color, occupation, date and place of birth, and current residence. It was very hard to concentrate because the dressing room was an echoing, high-ceiled area which exploded with noise and activity.

There was a babble of voices in many languages, mostly German, but Edward recognized French, Spanish, Italian, Swiss, and even a couple speaking Russian. Men stood in front of lockers and changed into fancier clothes (Edward later discovered most of the carnies kept their evening clothes in lockers here and paid a small fee to have them washed). Men sat at the dressing tables and applied pomade or oil to their hair, and dabbed on cologne. He saw some even apply makeup. Further back in the dressing room were showers and some men walked by clad only in damp towels, or even naked.

Shem had taken his coat to hang it up someplace, so Edward was alone when he noticed a very strange creature approaching him. Edward supposed he was male, but looks could be deceiving. He was an inch or so shorter than Edward and handsomely dressed in a purple shirt with a ruffled front and enormous cuffs. Over that was buttoned a tight purple jacket with lapels faced in red velvet, and slim purple pants with thin red velvet stripes down the outer seams. He wore several rings with red or purple stones on long slim fingers and purple shoes tied with oxblood red laces.

His hair was long and black and tied back with a purple satin ribbon in a braided plait like Edward used to wear. But the most striking aspect of this man was his face. His eyebrows had been tweezed into non-existance and replaced with arched, penciled-in versions. The face had been heavily powdered with a very light shade and a subdued red blush had been applied to accentuate his high cheekbones. As a topper, his mouth had been lipsticked in a garish red cupid's bow, like that popular American actress called 'The It Girl'. Edward was used to seeing men wearing earings, but this man had the most enormous silver hoops in his lobes, plus he smelled of some exotic floral perfume.

He came to a stop a few steps from Edward and he didn't as much stand there as he _posed_, a hand on his right hip and left foot pointed stright forward. He looked cooly at everyone from hooded dark-brown eyes and announced in a bored sounding drawl, "I am Pferd - because I am hung like one," he chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke. "Which one of you is the new boy?"

Pferd need not have asked because he had been staring straight at Edward for nearly the entire time. He took three mannered steps in Edward's direction and snatched the clipboard from his hands.

"Hmmm," he scratched his head with a long, purple-painted fingernail. "Edward Bauer? Obviously fake. 21? You're lying, but that's all right as long as you aren't really underage. 5' 6"? Well, you're not far off. Blonde? Hmph, that is the only truth in here."

Edward looked nervously at Pferd, was he going to be dismissed? But Pferd suddenly smiled, a full generous smile which reached his linered and mascaraed eyes. "No matter, I don't know anyone who uses his real name nowadays."

He paused and handed Edward a tan pasteboard card folded in half, and a small pencil. "This is your dance card, which is your responsibility to fill out. Only the first name of your partner is necessary, but be warned. You are a pretty boy, and men will want to dance with you too."

The surprise must have been evident on Edward's face because Pferd leaned forward and patted his shoulder. "Poor boy, you grew up sheltered in the country, didn't you? No wonder you are shocked, but you can make more money if you are willing to dance with men as well."

Edward swallowed hard, but he nodded and stammered, "Oh, Oh-kay."

"Very good, I like your spirit already. You'll no longer be bothered by it in a few days. And then you might want to consider going further and making yourself available for _special services_," Pferd wiggled his pencil eyebrows. "And that is where you will make some serious money."

"Umm...I'll think about it," Edward said in a kind of half-groan. He wondered if everyone here was crazy, or if it was just Pferd and Schwartz.

"Ach, yes, I almost forgot, where is my mind?" Pfred exclaimed as he dug into a jacket pocket. "This is your employee badge."

He reached up and pinned a small square object to the left lapel of Edward's jacket as he advised. "Wear it at all times when you are at the Konig."

Edward looked down at the square of metal and read '158' upside-down, then he started when Pferd clapped his hands and raised his voice above the infernal noise of the dressing room, "All right, everyone, it's time to dance!"

While Pferd led the way up the three flights of stairs to the dance floor above, he kept one arm around Edward's shoulder and gossiped chattily about some of the more infamous patrons of the Konig. It was all very amusing, but most of the one-sided conversation went over Edward's head. He was nervous and his stomach was tied into knots. _What have I gotten myself into?_ he wondered in a mild panic.

"You know," Pferd chirruped. "You look very handsome in that suit, but I suggest you do some clothes shopping after you get paid, because grave clothes aren't really your style."

"How did you know?" Edward sputtered in surprise as two red spots appeared on his cheeks.

Pferd tapped one fingernail on Edward's left cheek. "My father is one of the leading undertakers in Cologne and he wanted me to carry on the family business - tradition and all that - you know. But it's so morbid! I wanted to live and let live, not live and let bury! So I lit out for Berlin the minute hostilities ceased. I only come back to stage manage the Oktoberfest festivities at the Konig, then it's right back to Berlin for me. Anyways, I'd recognize his stock anywhere, that burial suit is one of his top sellers. It's been seen on all the best stiffs."

Pferd, Edward and the rest of the group had arrived at the the top of the final flight of stairs just as he said that. Before the dancers was a pair of wooden doors with frosted glass inserts. A tremendous din of music and loud voices could be heard just beyond them. Pferd released Edward's shoulders and walked alone to the doors before he pushed down on the handles and flung them open wide with a theatrical gesture. He spun around to face Edward and the rest before he threw his hands into the air and cried, "Forward! Your partners await!"

Edward tried to hang back, the din on the main dance floor was almost unbearably loud, but he was pushed forward by the crush of bodies. He looked back once when someone squeezed his shoulders. It was Shem who smiled encouragingly, "Don't be scared Ed, you'll do fine."

Edward wanted to tell him he was just nervous, but Shem was immediately claimed by a stout lady who wore what appeared to be a tent with large cabbage roses printed on it, and they whirled away into the tornadoing mass of dancers. Edward stood alone and felt like a target had been painted on his back. Anyone who wasn't dancing appeared to be staring at him and he felt very foolish dressed in a burial suit.

Then a man with a nasty puckered scar down the side of his face, and kitted out in full Prussian military unform, complete with medals walked briskly up to Edward, clicked his heels and bowed stiffly. He offered his white gloved left hand to Edward, and the blond hesitated, then jumped when Pferd spoke into his ear, "Edward, this is the Baron von Rentinburg. She's rather eccentric, but completely harmless. Baron, this is Edward, he's a Konig virgin, so be gentle with him."

Edward'd right hand was shaking when he put it into the Baron's still outstretched hand, and allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor.

After three-quarters of an hour, Edward's shirt was plastered to his body with sweat, his tie was wilting, and his feet were aching inside his work shoes. The Baron had hogged Edward for the first four dances - a Black Bottom,a quickstep, a tango, and finally a waltz. Edward was now sprawled out of breath upon a chair alongside one wall where he waited for the Baron to come back with a promised glass of punch.

Edward puffed out another breath and ran his right hand through his bangs in an attempt to pull them out of his eyes. The glove came back so sodden, the silk clung to the metal hand underneath and Edward looked at it in dismay.

"Edward? What is that?" came a soft and well modulated voice. Despite his fierce appearance, the Baron von Rentinburg had a cultured way of speaking.

Edward started guiltily and tired to hide his hand underneath the chair. Then he reached out with his left hand to take the glass of ruby-red punch. Edward said an abstracted 'thank you' and poured the punch into his mouth.

The punch was delicious, cold and crisp. Edward was very thirsty and he had drained half the glass in three large swallows before he felt a peculiar warmth in his stomach. Only then did he realize the punch was spiked. The Baron sat down on Edward's right side and sipped his own glass of punch. Then he locked eyes with Edward and new steel in his voice demanded, "Show me your hand."

Before Edward could refuse, or even react, the Baron had reached under the chair and yanked the younger man's hand out from it's hiding place. He flexed the wrist back and forth before he mused, "Hmm...such beautiful workmanship. Why do you hide a piece of art like that?"

"Because I don't want people to stare, and pity me," Edward mumbled from between grit teeth and snatched his hand back. It occured to him just then if Winry had been there, she would have Edward stripped to his underwear at the slightest hint of interest in his automail. Just as she had done back in Rush Valley.

The Baron didn't seem perturbed by Edward's attitude. He took another sip of his punch and ordered, "Take the glove off, Edward."

Edward didn't want to. He felt angry and resentful when his hand was forced. But people were starting to gather around the pair and they were staring at him anyways. He grumbled under his breath, and heaved a huge, melodramatic sigh before he peeled the wet silk back. A murmur ran through the crowd, a few people gasped, but Edward also heard words of admiration mixed among them.

The Baron pulled a snowy white linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed moisture off the metal hand, a very intimate gesture which caused a flush to spread from Edward's cheeks to his hairline. He tried to hide his discomfort by taking a large swig from his glass, which caused him to cough...

A rather fat man dressed in a completely white ensemble - right down to his shoelaces - shoved some people of his way and barked at the Baron, "I want to dance with him next!" Edward shot him a dismayed look, the man was already the worse for drink, his shirt front was stained with spilled punch, like spots of blood. His mussed hair looked like some sort of decayed animal perched upon his head, and his face was so decorated with "gin blossoms" he looked ready to die of a stroke right there.

Edward sighed and hung his head when the Baron said, "I have enjoyed Edward's company for four dances. I have no objection."

The fat man grinned and held out his right hand to Edward, who squeaked "Name?"

"It's Rufus, m'boy, Rufus McCord, and we're going to be great friends. I hear a samba starting, let's dance!"

Rusus seized Edward's right hand and yanked him right out of his chair. His almost empty glass of punch went flying, but he didn't hear a crash. He hoped it hadn't hit anyone.

In a samba, the partners dance closely, yet don't always touch. But they were in the middle of a crush of dancers, hemmed in at every side, so Edward was pushed close against Rufus. The air Edward was trying to breathe was heavy with the scents of sweat, tobacco smoke, cologne, perfume, and a strange scent Edward couldn't identify.

Rufus took advantage of the enforced closeness by touching Edward everywhere, stroking his hair, rubbing his back, or pinching his behind. Every so often, he would press his groin against Edward and the latter had become uncomfortably aware of a hard bulge against him. Rufus was now leering at him in a manner which made Edward's skin crawl. He wasn't much taller than Edward, but Rufus was at least twice as wide, both his breath and his body reeked. Edward desperately wanted to get away from him, but he had to finish the dance.

After what seemed an eternity, the last notes of the samba faded away, and in the short interval between that number and the next, Rufus licked his red lips and purred, "Would you like to go someplace private and negotiate for _special services_?"

His heartbeat thudded in his ears, and Edward wondered how discreetly he could manage to stick a finger down his throat and vomit on McCord when he was saved by an unknown man who tapped Rufus on the shoulder and asked, "May I cut in?"

"NO!" Rufus snarled like a dog guarding a juicy bone, and when a shoving match began to break out between him and the stranger, Edward slowly began to edge away.

"Oh, goody, you are mine now," a tenor voice breathed in his ear, and Edward spun about to find himself almost nose to nose with a svelte man about the same height as himself. He took Edward's right hand and curled his other arm about his waist. "And they're playing a tango too!"

His name was Winston and he was visiting from England. He was esquisitely dressed in a dark blue tail coat over a light blue tuxedo front shirt, and dark blue pants. His black hair was cropped very short and slicked back with oil and his brown eyes were fringed with lashes which seemed too long to be masculine. Underneath the general fug created by the other dancers, Edward's nose detected the faint odor of a woodsy cologne.

Like the Baron, Winston was an excellent dancer. Something about the man did bother Edward, but Winston didn't try to paw Edward or look at him like he was a piece of raw meat. Maybe it was the influence of the spiked punch, but

for the first time that evening, Edward began to relax. He couldn't quite figure Winston out, but he decided to ignore the strangeness and enjoy the experience.

After the tango, the music swung into the popular American dance called the Charleston, which was Edward's favorite. He must have smiled because Winston spoke for the second time since he'd introduced himself. "Are you smiling because you like the dance, or because I rescued you from Rufus?"

"BOTH!" yelled back Edward who was slightly out of breath.

"Very good!" trilled a French-accented voice behind him. "We don't like Rufus either!" Edward turned to see another small and slim young man who was dressed like Winston, but in a deep lavender suit.

"Edward," Winston made the introductions. "This is Georges, from Antwerp. Georges, this is Edward."

A third young man, dressed in a canary yellow tailcoat and pants brushed a long thin hand over Edward's left shoulder. "Rufus is an awful old rapist and if you'd stayed with him, he woud have had your trousers down to your ankles and you bent over a table before you could say 'Sodom and Gomorrah'."

Mr. Canary Yellow wiggled his arched eyebrows. "I am quite serious, Edward. Take it from someone who barely escaped Mr. McCord's tender embrace with his virginity intact."

Edward nodded in an abstracted way because he was too busy trying to stay in step with the music, which seemed to have sped up. He was about to drop from sheer exhaustion when the music suddenly stopped. Edward was caught off balance and he could feel himself falling. Then the arms of the man dressed in yellow encircled his waist and hauled him back upright. "Thank you," he gasped.

"No problem, by the way, my name is Louis. Pleased to meet you, Edward, you dance quite well." Edward didn't have the air to reply, so he just nodded. Louis looked back over his shoulder and swore, "Oh, pooh! Here he comes!"

Both he and Georges linked arms with Edward, and dragged him off the dance floor. Winston was close behind and he chatted amiably in Edward's ear. "We are going to have a little refreshment first Edward, then we will introduce you to some bright young things. I think you will have a lot of fun with them."

When Winston gave him another glass of punch, Edward remembered it was spiked and he sipped it slowly. The 'bright young things' Winston had mentioned were more androgynous men like themselves, plus a few actual women. He was becoming quite drunk from the punch and the faces were a blur, but his new found friends formed a tight cordon around him. He occasionally heard Rufus sputtering in anger, but he didn't have to dance with him again. In any case, Edward's dance card filled up with so many names, he was obliged to scribble them down in any clear space he could find.

Because there were no windows on the main dance floor, Edward didn't know dawn had broken until the final dance - a waltz - ended and the musicians finally put down their instruments. The great main entrance doors of the Konig were propped open and chilly air came whispering in tendrils into the room. The party was breaking up.

Edward couldn't stand the smell of himself, he _reeked_ of sweat and smoke, plus perfume and cologne which had rubbed off from his dance partners. Every muscle ached, his eyes burned and he suspected his feet were blistered. Plus, he had become so drunk he was unable to walk in a straight line. _How am I going to get home?_

He was leaning against a wall near the top of the back staircase when someone staggered into him with enough force to nearly send him flying down the steps. That someone turned out to be Shem and he threw an arm about Edward's shoulders before he emittted a blast of liquor scented breath in his face.

"EDWARD!" Shem slurred in an alchoholic drawl. "How did it feel to finally have some fun? Did you offer the ladies any _special services_?

Edward gave Shem a narrow-eyed look back. Since when had Shem acquired a twin brother? "Quit swaying like that, Shem. You're making me quesy!" he growled.

"I'm not swaying," Shem retorted. "You're the one who is moving!"

Edward's head was pounding, and his mouth was dry. He decided he most definately did not like being drunk. "Oh, shut up!" he snapped. "And help me down these stairs!"

They somehow made it to the bottom without breaking their necks and found Herr Schwartz in the vestibule. He looked fresh as a daisy as he stood between two large wooden boxes into which the other dancers were tossing their dance cards. He bared his massive teeth at Edward when he shuffled by, "Whatsamatter boy? Can't hold your liquor, eh?" Schwartz slapped Edward on the back with enough force to propel him halfway across the room, and laughed when the younger man stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Leave him be, Schwartz," Pferd grumbled as he helped Edward back to his feet. "It was his debut and he did wonderfully. Edward's sozzled brain was trying to figure out where the hell Pferd had come from when he suddenly shouted, "Schwartz! Stop him!"

The speed at which Schwartz moved was surprising for such a big man and he contained a very red-faced Rufus McCord with one massive paw. "Let me go!" McCord squealed with anger. "He's mine!"

To Edward he leered in a raspy voice, "Come here, pretty boy! I have some special dance steps to show you!"

For the first time, Pferd's face showed an expression other than mild ennui. "Patrons are not allowed in employee areas, Mr. McCord," he said in a flat, hostile tone unlike his usual drawl. "Please show him out, gentlemen."

Two bouncers almost as large as Schwartz grabbed Rufus's arms and dragged him, yelling and kicking, back up the steps. Pferd sighed and hung his head, and when he looked up, his face had been rearranged back into it's usual mask. "You know what he meant by _special dance steps_, Edward?"

"I can guess, Pferd," Edward replied in a dry tone. "A fellow told me McCord was an 'awful old rapist', but I didn't understand quite what he meant until he told me why, and how McCord had nearly raped him."

Pferd patted his shoulder. "Fortunately, you do have the right to refuse any offer to dance. Plus, you have made a lot of friends and admirers tonight. The Baron thinks quite highly of you," he paused and wrinkled his nose. "Now go and take a shower, you stink to high heaven."

The other carnies helped Edward get home and he had a vague recollection of the carnival strongman carrying him just before he passed out. Many hours later, Edward came to on his bed inside the caravan, and he could feel someone tugging on his shoes. He slowly levered himself up on to his elbows to see Noa rubbing something fragrant into his aching and blistered feet. She looked up and smiled at him before she ordered, "Go back to sleep."

_Near Oxford, January, 1926_

Edward awoke, coughing and sputtering to an awful smell of ammonia in his nostrils. He turned his head back and forth in an effort to escape it and a voice above him murmured, "Wake up, Mr. Smith-Jones, wake up!"

Someone lightly slapped his face and Edward blinked his eyes several times. The long, austere face of Mr. Hudson gradually came into focus.

"Mr. Hudson? What am I doing here?" Edward asked quietly, _here_ being a lumpy sofa in Mr. Hudson's study.

"You fainted, Mr. Smith-Jones, fainted dead away. Right in the servant's dining hall. Gave Cook quite a turn, you did. She thought you'd dropped dead, just like Old Tad, the head gardener in '03. He told her the porridge smelled grand and then he simply plopped face-first into it. What a pother _that_ was. Mind you, old Tad was almost as ancient as Methuselah..."

Edward said nothing. Mr. Hudson enjoyed meandering off in odd, unrelated tales like this, ande would consider any interruption to be most rude. So Edward held his tongue and waited patiently for the inevitable questions Mr. Hudson would get around to asking. Eventually.

"Lincoln says you have been reading a letter when you suddenly went very pale and swooned. I do hope you didn't get your secret admirer into trouble."

"N-no, Mr. Hudson. Nothing like that," Edward put one hand behind his head and blushed. "Some anonymous fellow in the village thinks I've replaced him in the affections of his sweetheart and he threatened to _thump_ me."

It was a good lie, but Mr. Hudson saw through it right away.

"A chap who uses lavender toilet water and writes on pretty pastel stationery?" He had Edward there. But thank the fates for impetuous little brothers. The door to the study suddenly burst open and Alphonse rushed in.

"Brother! Lincoln told me what happened! Are you all right?!"

"Al, I'm fine," Edward assured him with a sigh. "It's O.K., but you came in without knocking. So please apologize to Mr. Hudson."

Al was impatiently jigging in place, but he had the sense to duck his head in the head butler's general direction and mutter, "Sorry, Mr. Hudson."

"We shall talk later, Mr. Smith-Jones," Mr.Hudson pulled a nickel-plated hunter out of his waistcoat pocket and popped the lid open. "In the meantime, go and eat a proper breakfast before you see the Viscount. You don't want to faint in front of him."

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir." Edward carefully levered himself off the sofa and walked back to the servant's dining hall with Alphonse. He touched the right pocket of his jacket and paper crackled. After he'd read through the few words of the letter, Edward had folded it and stuck it in there before he'd stood up. His intention had been to go outside and first vomit up the two pieces of toast spread with orange marmalade, and the cup of tea he'd already had. But he must have stood up too quickly because the room suddenly swayed and gone all fuzzy before everything went black...

Edward's second intention, to show the letter to Alphonse had been dashed with Lincoln, Simpkins and some other servants surrounded them just inside the door of the dining hall. Edward took a a great deal of ribbing about his _falling back in a swoon_, and one of the under butlers had made a great show of fanning him with a cloth napkin until Cook stalked in to restore order just by clearing her throat.

She'd made eggs on toast with a piece of broiled beefsteak for Edward, plus a large foamy glass of milk to wash it all down with. He didn't know how he was going to eat all of it because he'd largely lost his appetite. But under Cook's basilisk gaze, he sat down and manfully tucked into the meal. The steak and eggs were perfectly cooked, the toast was delicious, and he even took a sip of the milk.

"Fresh from the cow, that milk is!" she declared. Edward smiled at her and said it tasted great, but inside he just wanted to gag. Once Cook had stopped hovering and gone back to her stoves, Edward muttered, "Al, Lincoln. Help me eat all this!"

The boys grabbed forks and dug in. Al guzzled most of the milk and Lincoln took care of the rest. "Wipe your mouth, Al," Edward hissed. "No! Not with your sleeve!"

Lincoln groaned, and Alphonse chuckled as the dining hall clock struck the three quarter hour, the time was nearly eight o'clock. The horse-drawn bus which took the estate children to school in the village of Burnlae Halt would be arriving soon. The brothers and Lincoln got to the back driveway with a few minutes to spare, and Edward got a little privacy to show Alphonse the letter.

"Brother! What do we do!?"

"Don't let yourself be isolated, Al. Stay with the other kids, but if there is trouble, run like hell and find someplace to hide. Don't come out unless you see some people you know you can trust. I'll meet you at four o'clock at the place we agreed upon."

Al nodded to show he understood before he turned to board the bus which had just pulled up. Lincoln followed him in and they sat down together. The boys were only three years apart and had become firm friends in just a few hours after the brothers had arrived at Burnlae Hall. Edward waved at the bus as the horses pulled it down the driveway, "Have a good day at school, Al! Don't tease the girls too much, okay?"

He continued to wave until the bus rounded a corner and was out of sight before he returned to the house. Back inside the kitchens, he warmed his gloved hands at a pot-bellied stove for a few minutes before he walked up the backstairs to the second-floor hallway. Edward halted at an age-spotted mirror hung on a wall next to the green baize door and checked his reflection for any loose hairs in his ponytail, or wrinkles in his clothing.

No one else was about, so Edward again slipped the letter out of his pocket and unfolded it. It was only one line on pale yellow paper, but that line had destroyed his whole world:

_We will fetch you just after dusk. Be ready. - M._

Edward crumpled the paper in his right hand, as if he could crush the life out of Mathun by long distance, and rubbed his face with the other. He suddenly felt very tired and wished he could go back to bed and sleep the next twelve hours away. Edward flinched when the loud chime of the kitchen clock stuck the quarter hour, 8:15 AM. It was time to present himself at the door of the Viscount's study.

Edward took three deep cleansing breaths to steady himself before he pushed open the green baize doors. In time with his heartbeat, the same five words thrummed in his mind.

_What are we gonna do?_

**Author's note:** In England, the first floor of a house is called "the ground floor". Then comes the first floor, and so on. Plus, in the big country houses, the green baize door(s) seperated the upstairs world of the master from the downstairs world of the servant.


	29. Chapter 29

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I don't even live there (well, if I did,life would be really - interesting), I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**Warning: **Contains violence and false imprisonment

**Beta:** Bishie-huntin' Shinigami

_Chapter Twenty-nine_ - In which Alphonse feels the ties that bind, and Edward speaks like a child.

The smell of damp earth was the first thing Alphonse was aware of when he regained consciousness. He could hear faint noises nearby, so he kept his eyes closed and used his other senses to assess the situation. His hands were pulled behind his back, something which felt cold and hard encircled his wrists. His ankles felt like they were bound in a similar manner. He tested the theory by trying to move his legs independently and they did so - to a point.

Then Alphonse sent his fingers exploring and they wriggled about to feel hard-packed earth behind his back, and slightly looser ground underneath his body. He concluded his wrists and ankles were shackled, plus his prison was walled and floored with earth. Perhaps he was underground, that would explain the smell.

Alphonse kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as he listened hard. Not far away, he could hear two men speaking in low, urgent on his left. To his right, a woman sobbed quietly and he had to fight back the urge to try to comfort her. Just like Edward, he hated to hear women cry. His senses of touch, smell, and hearing had learned all they could, now it was the turn of his sense of sight. Alphonse opened his eyes, and saw only black.

_I'm blind!_

A bubble of panic formed and rose in his throat, and Alphonse forced it down by taking three deep breaths. Now he realized he could see glimpses of light through whatever was covering his eyes. He tested this new theory by rubbing his face on his shoulder. He felt rough cloth, perhaps burlap, and heard it _shursh_ against his shirt. Someone had put a bag over his head.

Alphonse moved his head back and forth, and tried to capture the sounds all around him. He was surrounded by people. Were they prisoners too? Or his captors?

"Hello?" he asked tentatively, half fearing the reply.

"Hello yourself, young man." someone said on his immediate right.

The conversation to his left broke off and a voice hissed, "Keep your voice down, or they'll hear you!"

"Sorry," both Alphonse and the unknown voice to his right replied contritely. Barely daring to breathe, Al could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. When a few minutes passed without anything happening, Al decided this was a good time to make introductions. If "they" didn't like it, "they" could just lump it. He turned his face to the right and said,

"My name is Alphonse Elric, I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Charmed," came the reply. "I am Phillipius Eldritch."

The floodgates opened and one after the other, all of Alphonse's fellow captives spoke up.

"I am Henrietta Spuith," came the voice of the woman who had been sobbing, in a voice thick with tears.

"August Schwahn," said the man who had shushed Alphonse and Philllipius.

"And I am Ian Jones," said his companion. "Charmed as well."

Whispered voices came from all over the chamber.

"James Dragonera."

"Michelle Kehrmeyer."

"Louis Derleth."

"Janine Dahl."

"Mercy Spenser."

Suddenly, heavy footsteps were heard approaching and everyone fell silent. The footsteps - Alphonse's sharp ears detected four pairs - halted very close by. He heard keys rattle in two locks, and then a door swung open on creaking hinges. Two pairs of footsteps came into the room and stopped again. Alphonse could hear them breathing, but neither of them spoke. _They are testing us._ he guessed. The extended silence was stretching his nerves to the breaking point and Henrietta finally broke it when she cried out, "Who are you people? What do you want with us. I have young children who need me! In the name of all that's holy, let us go!"

Alphonse heard a voice mutter and one pair of footsteps stomped over to his right. Then chains rattled and he heard Henrietta cry out in pain. This wail was followed by several sharp sounds of flesh upon flesh. Each sound was immediately followed by another cry from Henrietta. She was being slapped, and very hard too. The sounds continued for another thirty seconds, and just when Alphonse was about to shout, they stopped.

Henrietta was crying very loudly now, in great gulping sobs which wrenched at Alphonse's mind. Also like Brother, he hated to see (or hear) the strong abusing the weak. What kind of monster beat a shackled woman? He wanted to scream and yell and rip off his own shackles before he gave that creep a dose of his own medicine. Something knocked against his right foot in a gentle, yet insistent rhythm. Something about it made Alphonse guess it was a booted foot.

"Calm yourself," Phillipius whispered quietly and Alphonse made an effort to be still. Careful not to make a sound, he unclenched his hands and lowered his right index finger to the floor. It was difficult because he was blindfolded, but Alphonse drew a basic alchemy array in the dirt.

He took three slow breaths to calm himself, then planned his course of action. His first transmutation would be to melt the middle of the floor upwards and trap the two unknown visitors, then he would melt his shackles. Just a few more seconds...

But Alphonse didn't get those few seconds. The same man muttered under his breath, feet moved, and a boot planted itself squarely in Alphonse's solar plexus. The air rushed out of his lungs with a loud "oof!" and white sparks danced before his eyes.

Alphonse wheezed and gasped and it seemed to take forever before the air rushed back. He sucked it in gratefully as tears of pain trickled down his cheeks. His fellow captives, plus the two men in the center of the room listened quietly. His breathing was almost back to normal when a loud, ringing voice broke the silence.

"Listen up, you alchemists! You are all blasphemers against God's holy word! As such, your lives are forfeit unless you repent of your evil ways! God said 'Do not suffer a witch, nor a warlock to live;!" Alchemy is akin to witchcraft, so you are also sinners!"

"You're making that up, aren't you?" Ian broke in with a dry chuckle.

**"SILENCE!!"**

Feet rushed to Alphonse's left, and he heard a thud, like a punch. It was followed by a grunt of pain.

The man with the loud voice continued with his speech. "You are forbidden to speak unless first spoken to and given permission! Only total obedience will be tolerated! If you are willfull, you will be punished!"

Alphonse heard another man several places away growl, "Bloody Christians!", and then shout "OW!" as he was struck. Again, it sounded like a punch with a closed fist. His breath caught in his throat as footsteps approached him. Expecting another kick in the stomach, he cringed back and made a fearful noise in the back of this throat.

"Good," said the unknown voice, which was now pitched more softly. "You have learned the first lesson, Alphonse Elric. And you may yet be spared the cleansing flames of God's love." The man gave the boy's head an affectionate pat and ruffled his hair. The motions made Alphonse shiver and his skin crawl. He wished for his brother, he wished he had let Edward tell Bond everything, he wished to be back in his own bed in Risembool. _Brother, please come soon.We need you._

It didn't take Alphonse long to figure out how their captors planned to break them down. He and the other prisoners were deprived of the sense of sight, of freedom, of the knowledge of the passage of time. They were slapped or punched if they dared to speak. Food and water was denied. Two people were with them in the cell at all times. One walked up and down the center aisle and read from the Christian's Holy Book in a monotone voice. Meanwhile, his companion struck any of the prisoners who dared to fall asleep. Alphonse himself had been rudely awakened by a stick smacking him on one shoulder or another a few times.

But he couldn't help it. The droning voice of the reading man was like an aural sedative. He reminded Alphonse of some of his college professors whose boring lectures he'd fallen asleep in the middle of. Only to wake up when shaken by another student bumping his desk while leaving after the lecture was over.

The stinging pain in his shoulder added to a catalog of miseries: he was hungry and thirsty, his arms and legs ached, his back had begun to cramp up, and he had to pee. Alphonse had held it in for as long as he could, he hadn't wet himself since he was very young and he wasn't going to relive the humiliation. His aching bladder finally drove him to speak up, "Excuse me?"

Footsteps stomped up to him and he was twice slapped hard across the face. His lower lip puffed, and then split, the sting added to his problems. But the man who had been reading suddenly called out, "STOP!"

The man who had slapped Alphonse growled in annoyance, but the other said, "He is young, brother, show him a little kindness."

"Hmph!" was the scornful reply. "He should suffer like the rest!"

But a set of keys rattled, and then scraped in a lock at his feet. Alphonse heard a _click!_, and suddenly, his ankles were free. He was roughly bent forwards and a key slid into the lock of his wrist shackles. He rubbed his wrists and hissed between his teeth with pain as returning circulation made his hands throb. A pair of roughened hands hauled him quickly to his feet and a voice demanded, "Open the door!"

Then it whispered in Alphonse's ear. "Keep that bag on, or it will be worse for you."

The door opened on squeaky hinges and he was hauled on stumbling, half-numbed feet out into what he believed to be a hallway.

"Glory be to God!" cried a female voice. "Has one of the blasphemers repented already?!"

Alphonse didn't hear a reply so he assumed the man holding him had shaken his head.

"I will pray for you, Alphonse Elric!" the woman called from behind him, which made Al wonder how complete strangers knew his name.

The hall was better lit than the cell he'd been confined in, and full of murmuring people who walked along the walls. They passed other doorways which reading voices could be heard coming from. Alphonse thought _how many people did they kidnap?_

The man who escorted Alphonse answered his unspoken question. "This place is a training center, where we prepare God's Holy Warriors to go out and do battle for souls. Lately, we have become more proactive by bringing the Devil's disciples here to show them the error of their ways."

"You mean kidnapping and brainwashing, don't you?" Alphonse's tone was accusatory. "You may be able to force a few people in the short term, but it won't work on all people. So it's not a good long term solution."

The man chuckled, in a scary sort of way, "You have spirit, boy. Turning your soul onto the path of righteousness will be quite a challenge. But, it's a challenge wer are up to. Although you are right, many souls will be lost to the flames of Hell. Still, we will save as many as we can."

He halted abruptly, opened a creaking wooden door, and pushed Alphonse forward. "Here is the lavatory, the toilet is three paces directly ahead of you."

Alphonse felt with his feet as he shuffled cautiously forward. Although the smell made him want to gag, he undid the waistband button and unzipped his pants. The splashing sounds told Alphonse the "toilet" was just a hole in the ground, and it wasn't deep enough. Once he had finished, the man entered the room and gave Alphonse something which felt like wax paper to wipe himself with. He also gave Al time to re-do his pants before he hauled him back into the hall.

A breeze was coming from somewhere, and it was bringing fresh air in to war with the musty earth smell. After the pestilent stench of the lavatory, Alphonse gulped several lungfulls in relief, and his head cleared.

Light shone tantalizingly through the gaps of the burlap bag and the urge to remove it was close to overwhelming. Despite the order he had been given, his right hand began to edge up towards the fabric. All he wanted was a little peek before he went mad...

A hand suddenly grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so hard tears sprang to Al's eyes. He gasped as he fell backwards, jarring himself on the hard-packed earthen floor of the hall. A heavy weight fell upon his midsection, the man was sitting on him.

"What" _slap_ "did" _slap_ "I" _slap_ "tell" _slap_ "you?!" _slap_. Alphonse's head herked back and forth with each blow. The man was using the whole of his palm and throwing all his weight into the stinging blows. The left side of his face hurt sharply and Al guessed a cut had opened on his face. He could also taste something coppery in his mouth. _Blood_. His tongue was bleeding where his teeth had been pushed into it. His lips had already developed new splits, both upper and lower.

"Stop it, Brother Jedidiah! Stop it now! You're killing him!" Alphonse recognized the voice of the woman who said she'd pray for him. It seemed to come from a long way away through a roaring in his ears. The slaps suddenly grew weaker and Al guessed she had grabbed Jedidiah's arm.

With a sudden roar of rage, Jedidiah turned upon Alphonse's rescuer. The weight left Al and the woman screamed. This was followed by the sound of flesh upon flesh as Jedidiah began slapping her. "Stupid woman!" he rasped. "When will you learn, when will you LEARN!?"

The roaring sound was fading, but Alphonse saw red through the gaps in the bag. This Jedidiah was the same one who had slapped Henrietta, punched Ian and the other prisoner, and kicked him in the stomach. So, he liked to beat women and children, did he? Alphonse's hands clenched so hard he could feel the nails digging into the soft pallms. Izumi had taught him many tricky martial arts moves, some of which would serve to punish this abusive man. He yanked the burlap bag up and off before he screamed, "Leave her alone, you bastard!"

Alphonse had to blink a few times before his eyes got used to the light. Fortunately, the pair in front of him were so frozen with shock, Al got the time he needed to catch his bearings. A petite blonde woman wearing what looked like a shapeless denim sack dress and muddy boots lay on her back underneath a man nearly three times her size. She was bleeding from the nose and mouth. There was a blue scarf hung around her neck and Jedidiah's hands were tangled in the scarf, as if he was strangling her with it.

Jedidiah would have made two Alphonses. His dark hair was crapped so short, patches of bare skin showed through. His eyes were also dark, but narrowed to such tiny slits, Alphonse couldn't tell their true color. Jedidiah had a straignt nose and a thin lipped mouth, and the skin around them was dark red with anger. His long neck was marred by a very prominent "Adam's apple" which rose above an oversized blue checked shirt with frayed collar and cuffs. The shirt was patched at the elbows, and patched at the knees was a pair of overly large black pants cinched in at the waist with a wide leather belt. On his feet were scuffed and muddy brown shoes.

Alphons took in all these impressions quickly because Jedidiah was off the woman he'd been beating, and after Alphonse in a flash. Al barely had time to react, he planted one shoe in Jedidiah's midsection and rocked back on his spine to send the other man flying over him.

Jedidiah landed awkwardly on his right shoulder with a loud _crack!. _Alphonse considered it poetic justice as the man cried out in pain. For Jedidiah had slapped him and the woman with his right hand.

Alphonse stood up shakily and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. His face still tingled sharply and his tongue twinged. He was aware people were approaching and surrounding him, but he didn't care. Two other women were helping the blonde woman to her feet.

"Are you all right?" Alphonse asked with innocent concern. "Did he hurt you badly?" The last thing he expected was for her to round upon him in fury.

"You FOOL!" she shrieked. "Do you know what you have done?!"

"I stopped a man about three times your size from beating you to death!" Alphonse replied heatedly, his fingers clenching into fists again. "It's not right for the strong to abuse the weak!" He suddenly realized he was shouting, and he immediately softened his tone before he added, "My mother taught me that when I was young."

"You have injured a prophet!" the blonde yelled back, as if she'd never heard him. "And Brother Jedidiah had the right to discipline you, and me!" She flung her right hand out in the direction of the said brother, who was being helped to limp away by two other men.

"Bullies are not prophets," Alphonse hissed from between clenched teeth, he was losing his patience with this woman who seemed to believe someone had the right to slap her around. "Even if he _was_ a prophet, that is no excuse for beating women and children! If my brother were here, he'd tell you the exact same thing! Jedidiah's actions are injustice, not 'discipline'!"

"Our holy book says all men are prophets because only they are made in God's image," said one of the women supporting the blonde. " I urge you to heed Sister Bernadette's words and repent. I can see you are a kind boy and your heart is in the right place. But you are too impulsive and too willfull. Brother Jedidiah was attempting to teach you obedience."

"'Obedience?'" Alphonse attempted to stifle his bark of laughter and it came out as a snort. "The lunatics are running the asylum here. You are crazy if you think I'll join you!"

Three men came closer to Alphonse from the front, their eyes glaring and hands clenched to grab him. _All right, I'll go down fighting if I have to_, he thought as he took up a defensive position. He was so engrossed in watching his front, Alphonse forgot his back. A voice sighed in his left ear and Alphonse felt himself falling after something hard slammed into the side of his skull.

Hospitals always put Edward in a bad mood. He sat up in his bed, arms crossed and lower lip stuck out. While he pouted, he also wuite deliberately snubbed Ian who sat in a chair set on the left of the bed. The alchemist had woken up an hour ago with a splitting headache and a foul temper. Edward had briefly thrashed against his bonds, and then given up because movement only made his headache worse. Mrs. Deadlocke had arrived soon after, and she had slightly improved his mien when she unstrapped him. But the brief buoyancy Edward had felt evaporated when she followed up by sticking a thermometer into his mouth.

By all rights, the scorching look he gave the hospital matron should have made her burst into flames. Unfortunately for Edward, life isn't always fair and Mrs. Deadlocke was fireproof. She took his pulse in a frosty silence before she added insult to annoyance by abruptly reaching over and pinching his nose shut. A spoonful of castor oil went in when he opened his mouth to breathe, anything he had wanted to say had to wait while he swallowed the disgusting medicine. It slid down his throat and coagulated in his stomach like a hot lump of coal.

When Ian sat down in the chair half an hour later, nothing would have pleased Edward more than to puke in his lap. Not only did his stomach fail to oblige, it was growling loudly for its breakfast. Which was a bowl of thick and barely warm porridge on a wheeled table on his right. Edward had lifted the spoon once and cautiously licked it before he shuddered in revulsion. The porridge was the consistency of wallpaper paste, which probably tasted better than this.

"Edward." said Ian. "Edward, listen to me." The alchemist refused to look at him and pretended to be interested in his neighbor's intravenous rig. Ian sat back and massaged his temples. He'd been up most of the night reviewing intelligence on the Christian enclave near Bishopscourt Hille. This place was the source of the more troublesome Christian elements in New Britain, as well as the likeliest place Alphonse and the rest of the kidnapped alchemists were being held. The last thing he remembered reading was Agent Dasher's report on the incident at Hotspur Hall:

_I was shadowing the Princess Lilith on her way home to her dorm when I heard a cry coming from the direction of Hotspur Hall. I observed a young female in a state of great agitation running across the lawns and shouting for help._

_A few yards behind the girl, and apparently pursuing her were two men in tan raincoats. The girl called out to the Princess and the Princess responded by calling her 'Lexie'. When the men came closer, she identified herself as the Princess Lilith of Lancaster, and she ordered the men to stop at once. _

_One of them shouted, "We don't take orders from mere women!" and made as if to surround the Princess and her companion. I promptly drew my service revolver and placed myself between the men and the two girls. I identified myself as Agent Dasher of MI7 and ordered them to do what the Princess said. _

_They refused. I fired once into the air and repeated my order. They drew truncheons from the pockets of their coats and charged. I shot one of them in the right knee, and he went down, but the other managed to strike me on the elbow and knock the revolver from my grasp. Both of us went down. He attempted to strike me about the head with his truncheon until I knocked it away. Then he seized me by the throat with both of his hands and began to strangle me..._

Ian had fallen asleep at that point. He'd woken up some time later to the welcome smell of coffee, Cymru Roast to be exact. Not so welcome was the sight of "X" who sat in his overstuffed recliner (he'd been moved to the sofa), with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and Agent Dasher's report in the other.

X smiled and said, "Good morning, Colonel Bond. Wouldn't you say Agent Dasher is a bit too fond of purple prose?"

Stupid with sleep, Ian had blinked several times at her. To try and drain the fog from his brain, he tried shaking his head a few times. But it only made his temples throb. Even if it was technically HIS coffee, he wished X would pour him a cup...

But X began to read _"...my attempts at self defense loosened his grasp only slightly and I was beginning to lose consciousness. Suddenly, I heard a series of hollow thumping noises and the man let go of my throat and my vision cleared. I witnessed the girl known as Lexie enthusiastically striking the man about the head with his own truncheon. The man turned and struck the girl in the face, knocking her down. He had stood up and was beginning to move towards her when three closely spaced gunshots rang out. The Princess Lilith came into view from my right. She was holding my service revolver and had shot the man three times in the buttocks._

_I had recovered enough by then to go to the aid of Lexie, who was bleeding from her mouth. I also pulled my radio phone out and called for back up. Agents Pouncer, Le Carre, and Steed arrived shortly thereafter. The first two offered to escort the Princess back to Lancaster House and she insisted Lexie accompany her._

_Inspector Button and the Londonium police arrived as the Princess was leaving, and they took custody of the two men. After I retrieved my service revolver from the Princess, Agent Steed and I entered Hotspur Hall..."_

X thankfully stopped reading. Dasher's report was as dry and dull as a Sunday sermon. "To make a long story short, witnesses reported seeing four men with ugly haircuts and wearing tan raincoats buttoned up to their chins feeling the scene. One had a limp, apparently unconscious person flung over one shoulder. A room to room search was made. In the lodgings shared by Pratchett Wodehouse and Alphonse Elric, evidence was recovered, inclduing a small silver aerosol canister. Tests have revealed it contained a sort of nerve gas which would almost instantly cause unconsciousness when breathed in. Canisters of the same gas have been recovered from all the kidnapping scenes and we have been in contact with the Meso-American ambassador to New Britain. She told us several pallets of this gas were stolen from the military depot at Fort Montezuma about six months ago."

X didn't have to ask Ian if he knew what this all meant. As well as being humiliating to MI7 in general, and the Secret Service in particular, this situation was already a monumental headache. Which could easily become an international incident.

"Alphonse Elric," X broke into his thoughts with a question. "Is he related to that Amestrian Colonel of yours?"

X was lying because she already knew the answer, but Ian nodded anyways. "Edward was quite upset when he learned about his little brother and he tried to check himself out of hospital..." Ian worried his upper lip with a thumb. "I will have to visit him after the morning briefing at HQ, but I have the feeling he won't be pleased with me."

Ian's gloomy prediction was spot on. Because the alchemist still refused to look at him.

"Bloody hell, Edward!" Ian exploded, then blushed and ran his hand through his short hair. "What more do you want me to do?"

"Get me out of here," Edward growled in reply while he studied the ceiling. It needed a fresh coat of paint.

"I can't do that, you know I can't," Ian sighed. He was beginning to lose his patience with the difficult Amestrian.

Edward bared his teeth. "I want **OUT**, Ian."

"Dammit, Elric, you've suffered a concussion. So it's bed rest for three days. And thanks to your little stunt yesterday, you get to spend all of them in hospital."

"Al is in trouble, Ian. I've got to find him."

"The staff thinks you're barmy. Most people would get seven days for psychiatric evaluation. But, I pulled some strings on your behalf. And Dr. Luthor understands you are anxious about Alph..."

**"ANXIOUS!?"** Edward bellowed so loudly, his voice echoed around the entire ward. Sleeping patients were rudely jerked awake, and already awake paitents peered at him curiously. "My little brother had been kidnapped by religious zealots who are doing who knows what to him! You're damn right I'm anxious!"

"Keep your voice down!" Ian hissed. "Do you want to be strapped down again?" He picked up one of the leather wrist straps, which was still attached to the bed frame, and waved it in Edward's line of sight. He was yelling, but at least he was looking right at Ian.

Edward gave him a sour look. "You can't scare me, Mrs. Deadlocke already beat you to it. Even I'm starting to believe Pratchett's claim she is 'the Patient Crusher'."

Returning consciousness brought the grinding pain of a headache and Alphonse groaned loudly when he woke up. His head felt like it would split in two if he dared to raise it from whereever he was laying. Alphonse lay still as he could and the lancing agony eased off, but only a little.

He gradually became aware of some other things. There was something rough around his face and Alphonse cautiously reached a curious hand up to explore. The burlap bag hadn't been put back over his head, but he had been blindfolded, possibly with the same type of material. Alphonse could smell earth and a musty odor, he most likely was still underground. He stirred a bit and something beneath him squeaked and gave slightly. He had been laid on a cot, or a bed.

There was another scent underlaying the earth smell and Alphonse took a deeper breath.

_Bleach!_

It brought a sharp edged memory to his mind's eye. He was very young and someone was carrying him about the backyard of his old home in Risembool. All about him white sheets and pillowcases waved and flapped in a warm wind, and all of them smelled subtly of bleach. The wind suddenly died down and the sheets stilled. This enabled him to see a figure with chestnut hair kneeling over a wicker basket full of laundry. With one smooth motion, the figure stood up with another white sheet in it's hands, and pinned it to the clothesline. After the task was done, it turned in his direction, and gasped lightly in surprise. Then the figure smiled at him. Alphonse felt his younger self must have been crying, but now he'd found the person he had searched for. And so he smiled back.

_MaMa._

Alphonse reached chubby little arms out towards her.

_MaMa!_

He was hungry and he wanted his dinner. He knew where it came from.

_MaMa!_

The wind picked up again and a sheet blew against him, obscuring her from view. The sheet felt soft, and it had a faint scent of bleach. A smell which reminded him of home and the one person he missed most of all.

_Mother._

Then the memory was gone abruptly. Alphonse's throat felt tight with tears and the pillowcase against his right cheek was rough and scratchy. It smelled strongly of bleach. Too strongly. He sniffed back the tears, and then stilled when he heard movement and breathing behind him. He was being watched by someone. A chill raced up his spine and he bit back another groan. Alphonse lay as still as he could and pretended to be asleep.

"I know you are awake," a woman said to him. Alphonse didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Sister Bernadette, nor her helper. But he made note of the crisp note of command in her voice. He'd head it used before, by First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Granny Pinako, and Teacher. Even by Winry, when she was angry with Brother.

"Does your head hurt badly?" the woman asked, a note of concern had crept into her voice, but the steel was still underneath. "Lay on your back, Alphonse, and roll up your sleeve. I'll give you an injection to ease the pain."

He felt a brief flare of resentment at the preemptory tone. She was one of his captors, why should he do what she said? "Please do as I ask, Alphonse, it will go much easier on you if you cooperate. Here, hold still, I'll take your blindfold off."

He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his back, but he wouldn't meet her eyes after she untied the strip of burlap. Nor would Alphonse pull up his shirt sleeve, and he watched a pair of graceful, long-fingered hands undo the bottons of the left cuff and roll the shirt sleeve up past his elbow.

The hands disappeared and Alphonse next heard the gurgling of liquid, followed by a clink of glass. He heard other sounds: paper crinkling, then a couple of faint squeaking noises. The hands reappeared with a length of rubber tubing which they tied about Alphonse's arm, just above his elbow. They disappeared a second time, but came back almost immediately with a square of cotton, which they wiped in a circular pattern on the tender skin.

Alphonse swallowed hard around a lump which had suddenly formed in his throat when the alchohol swabbing was complete. He began to tremble as one of the hands set the tip of a hypodermic needle against the vein. It brought on another memory, of a night in London. When he'd woken up in the back seat of a car and groggy from choloroform. Just in time to see a needle going into his arm...

"If the needle makes you uncomfortable, look at me, Alphonse."

Alphonse looked up and his wide, chocolate brown eyes met the narrow green ones of an older woman, a woman he had never seen before. She wasn't smiling, but the ends of her mouth curved up anyways as if she was perpetually amused. She had a square face, and a promiment jaw, other than the lines around the eyes commonly called 'crow's feet', her face was unblemished by marks of age. Alphonse couldn't tell the color of her hair because it had been scraped back and completely tucked underneath a deep blue scarf. The rest of her body was hidden underneath a robe of the same color which had a high collar. It hid most of her neck, but Alphonse thought he could see a bit of reddened and puckered skin, like it had been burned, just underneath the top of the collar.

She gave him a slow smile and then announced. "There! All done!"

He looked down at his arm and saw she had already untied the rubber tubing and withdrawn the needle. A small dot of blood formed at the point of injection before she wiped it away with a cotton square, then affixed a self adhesive bandage over it.

Alphonse looked back at her face, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. She looked blandly serene and she'd been gentle with him so far, but this woman was in league with his kidnappers. She was the enemy, and not to be trusted.

"My name is Sister Janette and I'll look after you for a while until I'm sure you haven't suffered a concussion. Then you will re-join the religious education with the other blasphemers."

There was that word again: _blasphemers_. Alphonse felt he may have 'blasphemed' once, but that was a long time ago. And he'd paid for it, his punishment being four long years of his soul being bound to a suit of armor. Until his older brother's sacrifice reuinited his body and soul. As far as he was concerned, he'd paid - BOTH of them had paid - their dues. He was not a blasphemer, no, not anymore.

Sister Janette had gotten up as she said this, and gone to the door. She knocked on the inside surface and said, "Brother Zenos, let me out please." The locks grated open and slice of light flowed into the dim chamber from the hall outside. She turned back to Alphonse. "Rest now, Alphonse Elric. And I will bring you something to eat."

Janette smiled one more time before she stepped through the gap, and then she was gone. Alphonse glared back and ground his teeth with frustration. Not since that day on Yock Island when he and Brother had prevented Wrath from killiing Teacher had he wanted to pummel anyone more.

**Author's note:** Does anyone recognize the "Lost" vibe I was going here for? I have to confess I modled Sister Janette a bit on Juliette, the Other who so tormented Jack while he was in that glass cage. Juliette is only a fictional character, but I had such a strong urge to punch her in the face during some of those episodes. Which is probably the sort of visceral response the writers of the show are looking for. If a description they write makes viewers/readers want to love or hate a character, then the writers are doing their job.


	30. Chapter 30

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA. Heck, I don't even live there. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the characters for awhile.

**Warnings: **some sappiness between teenagers. Also violence and bad language.

**Author's notes:** post movie story which supposes a little adventure after Edward and Alphonse return to their world after roughly 3-1/2 years trapped on the other side of the Gate. It shifts back and forth between Amestris/New Britain 1921, and Germany October 1924 - January 1925 to England January 1925 - January 1926. (Going by a 3.5:1 machine world/alchemic world ratio) Confusing, yes? Worlds and cultures, alchemy and religion are colliding and it all threatens to become a big ugly mess unless the Elric brothers, and Edward's counterpart in MI-7 can stop it.

**Co-Betas: **bishiehuntin'shinigami, and fullmetalfemme

Chapter 30: In which Alphonse becomes all tongue tied, plus Amelia does some sleuthing

Alphonse's last class that day had been Advanced Calculus, and Professor Twist had popped a surprise quiz upon his students. It had been a real brain buster, so he wasn't thinking of anything in particular when he fit his key into the lock of the door which led to the lodgings he shared in Hotspur Hall with Pratchett.

Miss Chievous was usually there to greet him, then try to sneak out, and Alphonse had thought it odd the short entrance hall was empty. But he quickly put it out of his mind. Thinking made his brain hurt, besides, he was dead tired, hungry and thirsty. He walked into the dining room, and with a grateful groan, slipped the bookbag off his aching shoulder It hit the table with a loud thud and the legs shuddered ominously. His professors had given him a TON of homework, plus he still had to finish the course work he'd missed because of his unscheduled swim.

Tomorrow was Saturday, but there would be no sleeping in for Alphonse. He'd be studying, filling in worksheets, and writing papers all weekend. Unless - he could convince Brother to help him. It would be almost just like the old days, except he would be able to eat the popcorn he would make to help them along. Alphonse's stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He rubbed his sore shoulder and headed towards the swinging door which seperated the kitchen from the dining room.

In the kitchen, Alphonse found Miss Chievous, sitting morosely on the counter next to the icebox.

"Hello, Missy," he scratched her behind the ears until she purred and butted her head against his hand. Then she pawed at the door of the icebox and meowed loudly. Alphonse knew this meant Missy was hungry too. _Feed. Me. Now. Human._

He ruffled her ears and chuckled, "Chowhound." Miss repeated her demanding meow, so he opened the icebox and retrieved the container of homemade cat food he mixed fresh every few days.

"That bloody cat eats better than I do!" Pratchett had exploded in mock outrage after another Hotspur resident visiting from the next floor up mistook the cat food for a casserole. 'Pongo' had eaten most of the contents before Alphonse walked in to the kitchen and told him what is was. The gangly boy had paled only momentarily before he pronounced it _the best thing I've ever tasted_, and begged Alphonse for the recipe.

Alphonse pried open the cover of the celluloid box and got a spoon from the silverware drawer, then put a few scoops into her china food bowl. The food he made was very basic: scrap beef, chicken, lamb and pork from a nearby butcher shop, then stewed together with rice and grated carrots in chicken broth. Then it was strained to remove any fat, and allowed to cool before he put it into a celluloid box and into the icebox. Each batch lasted two to three days before Alphonse made a fresh one. Unless a fellow college student ate it by mistake.

While Missy ate, Alphonse also noticed her water bowl was almost empty, and he refilled it from the tap at the sink. Unsure if Missy would like New British tap water, he had brought a few bottles of Risembool tap water with him, and gradually eased her transition by mixing the two types of water together. He didn't notice any difference, but he'd read cats could be as finicky about water as they were about food. Alphonse leaned on the kichen counter and smiled to watch the kitten eating - until his own stomach repeated it's demands to be filled.

After one final _chirrup_ at Missy, he reopened the icebox door, and rummaged around for a bit before he came out with a bottle of watermelon juice and a Crimson Delicious apple. Alphonse went back through the swinging door with the apple clenched between his teeth while he twisted off the cap on the bottle of juice. He stopped after a few steps into the dining room to take hold of the apple in one hand so he could bite off a chunk of it. Before he tackled the mountain of school work which awaited him, he would take a few minutes to eat his snack, play with Missy, and change into more casual clothes.

Alphonse took a swig of the juice to wash the chewed apple down, then bit off another chunk and chewed it slowly while he stared into space and thought of nothing at all. It felt good to let his mind off it's leash and gambol about free of worries about assignments and schedules. The doorbell rang while he was taking another drink of juice and he choked briefly. He looked in the direction of the door when the bell rang again. It was probably Pratchett, he was so scatterbrained about his keys, he either forgot to take them with him in the morning, or forgot they were already in the bottom of his bookbag. Alphonse stuck the rest of the apple in between his teeth and went to let his roommate in.

But the person on the lother side of the door wasn't Pratchett. It was someone Alphonse was both glad and a little afraid to see:

Lexington Wodehouse.

Also known as 'Lexie', she was Pratchett's little sister. A bright and bubbly fifteen year old, she shared the same shade of brown eyes and hair with Pratchett. But the resemblence ended there. Lexie's eyes were large and luminous, her hair long and silky. And Alphonse seemed to be short of breath every time he looked at her. For her part, Lexie seemed to be totally oblivious of the effect she had upon him and other boys, so she left a trail of confused and lovesick young males where ever she went.

As much as Alphonse enjoyed Lexie's company, he never knew quite what to say whenever she was near. He didn't dare tell her he liked her because he was afraid she would laugh at him. Alphonse was also afraid Pratchett would hear him. If there was one thing Pratchett Wodehouse was fierce about, it was protecting the 'honor' of his little sister. Alphonse was especially spooked after Prince told him Pratchett had once nearly come to blows with a classmate who had dared to pat Lexie's bottom on high school graduation day.

So what would Pratchett do to Alphonse, a twenty-one year old soul in a sixteen year old body? Who was also a foreigner, not to mention much less a major in a foreign army? He feared Pratchett would do something violent if he dared speak to Lexie as anything more than just her big brother's friend.

Lexie smiled at him from the other side of the threshold and Alphonse's mind went blank.

"Hello, Alphonse," she bubbled at him, and like an idiot, Alphonse just stared back with the apple still clenched between his teeth. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

His mental gears re-engaged with a jerk. "Ug, hewo Exey," Alphonse tried to speak around the apple. Then he remembered his manners, took the apple out of his mouth, and stepped back. "Uh, sorry about that, please come in, Lexie."

She shot him a dazzling smile as she came inside and sashayed up the hall towards the dining room. Alphonse trailed in her wake, red-faced and sweating with nerves. The dining room was a mess with books, papers, and dirty dishes strewn on the table and most of the chairs. He didn't even want to think about the disaster areas known as their bedrooms. Lexie didn't seem to care though, and she made a beeline for his book bag.

Her right hand was reaching for the bag's clasp when she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Oh please, Alphonse," her smile was bewitching. "I know it makes me look like an awful swot, but I love to look at college textbooks!"

She flashed smile like that made even a beating by an enraged Pratchett worthwhile, and Alphonse melted like butter in a hot pan. "Su - sure," he stammered. "Look all you like."

"Thank you!" she trilled, then she emptied the bag in ninety seconds. Lexie picked up the top book from the pile she'd excavated. Adventures In Advanced Mathematics was the title of the heavy volume. "Maths is my favorite subject, you know."

Her nose was in the book before she'd finished speaking. Lexie looked so happy her smile could have lit up a dark room, so Alphonse pulled out a chair, sat down and soaked in the rays. Math was easy for him, but the real adventure lay in toting that book around campus without throwing his back out. Talk about 'heavy reading'!

After Lexie had finished flipping through the mathematics book, she picked up the next book, Physionomic Structures of the Domestic Cat. That wasn't quite as interesting, so she laid it back down on the table. Which Alphonse felt was a good thing because one chapter dealt with feline reproduction, and it contained many color plates of cats mating. It was something he didn't want Lexie to see. The next volume, Societal And Economic Relationships Between Alchemy and Witchcraft In The Sixteenth Century seemed just as dry and it was quickly laid down as was the next book, Alchemy And It's Development In Other Lands, 123rd edition, revised on top of the others. Lexie uttered a tiny squeal of delight when she unearthed the fourth book, Partridge's Concise Guide To College Level Chemistry, Freshman Edition.

Her eyes lit up as she cracked the book open and she began to mutter under her breath. Then she put a hand over her mouth and coughed. Alphonse shot up from his chair like he'd been shocked. "Uh, Lexie, can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you, Alphonse, that would be lovely." She went right back to the book and he was glad she hadn't explored the bookbag any further. It contained a jumbled mishmash of things: two expanding file folders full of worksheets and essays in various stages of completion, plus several wire bound notebooks into which Alphonse scribbled his course notes. An outer pocket of the bookbag held handkerchiefs (some of which needed laundering), pens, pencils, erasers, a packet of 'Sleep Not' tablets (which he usually forgot to take), and a small notepad to write his assignments in.

But Lexie ignored that, and she even put down the chemistry book because something else had grabbed her attention. A rapturously purring Miss Chievous, her tummy full of cat food, was sinously winding around Lexie's ankles, and vocalizing for attention.

"Hullo, Missy," Lexie crooned, then bent down and offered her hand for the tabby kitten to sniff. A head butt signified the feline's acceptance and Lexie stood back up with Missy in her arms. Her purrs were so loud, Alphonse could hear them from the far end of the table, and he smiled at the vaguely domestic scene.

Then a blinking light caught his attention.

The telephone stood on a low oak table along one wall and it was attached to two answering machines. The larger white machine was for Pratchett's messages and the light was almost always blinking, But the smaller black machine hardly ever blinked because only a few people had Alphonse's college phone number. The last time it had blinked was when Brother had called from L'Escargot to tell him what time his ferry would be docking. Alphonse had erased that message, so this had to be a new one from Brother. He hardly expected calls from Winry or Granny, the elder Rockbell wasn't one to waste money on long-distance phone calls unrelated to the automail business.

Lexie was still busy with Miss Chievous, who was kneading her paws on the girl's shoulder, which meant he could take a few minutes to listen to the message without appearing to be rude. He excused himself, and got up from his seat, walked over to the the machine, and tapped the 'playback' button. Alphonse smiled at Edward's first fumbling words, but the admission about the attack yesterday wiped it right off his face. _Why didn't Brother tell me? WHEN was he going to tell me?_

"The Drachman affair wiped it right out of my mind..."

Alphonse bobbed his head in a slight nod. That he could understand.

"...but now they know about you."

Miss Chievous suddenly hissed, and Lexie cried out in pain. Alphonse spun around to his left in time to see the kitten jump down to the floor and dart away, still hissing, with her tail all bushed out. "Lexie, are you all right?"

"So I'm calling to warn you..."

"It's all right, Alphonse," Lexie was looking at her left hand, blood welled from scratches on two fingers. "She just scratched me a little."

The girl looked over at Alphonse, then beyond him. She turned pale, her eyes widened, and she screamed, "Alphonse! Look out!"

Alponse whirled back to his right. Approaching him and slightly fanned out were four figures in tan raincoats. He couldn't say for sure if they were men or women, or what their faces looked like because their heads appeared to be round and black, with large, staring eyes and long snouts with stubby ends. He was startled enough not to recognize them for what they were: gas masks.

Alphonse instinctively took a defensive stance, legs spread shoulder width apart, slightly bent over, and hands held stiffly. He must protect Lexie. Over his shoulder, he shouted "Lexie, RUN!"

Retreating footsteps told him she had taken his advice, so he grinned toothily at the intruders and growled, "Want a piece of me?!"

"Love you, little brother."

Alplhonse heard the final line of Edward's message just as one of the figures extended a small, silver aerosol can in one gloved hand. It depressed the top button and a fine yellow spray shot out and enveloped Alphonse's head before he could react.

He coughed a few times and his vision went all fuzzy. The room tilted, then Alphonse fell into darkness, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Not even Edward's longest rants could last forever, and his eventually wound down. But he continued to fuss and fume at Ian, he waved his arms and gestulated with his hands, "Three days, Bond! THREE DAYS! I'm going to be driven insane if I can't do something to find Al before then!"

"I sympathize, Edward, but this bears repeating. A concussion is serious business. People have died because they didn't received prompt medical attention."

"I have a hard head and I've been hurt worse than this. A little bump on the noggin is nothing," Edward finished with an angry growl in his voice because Mrs. Deadlocke had just glided into his field of view. He clenched the bedsheets so hard, the knuckles of his left hand turned white.

The hospital matron glided up to his bed side and crisply announced, "You have a visitor, Colonel Elric," Mrs. Deadlocke's expression made it obvious she wasn't impressed. "I have made it clear she is not to stay too long because you need to rest." She turned to her left and nodded grimly before swiveling and gliding away in the opposite direction. Both men looked at each other, each privately asking the same question Alphonse had when he encountered her: did Mrs. Deadlocke have wheels or feet underneath her skirts?

A tall, dark-skinned woman walked cautiously up to Edward's bed. Her black hair was cut in the style known as a 'pageboy': the back cropped very short and the hair gradually became longer as it swept to the front of her face, with the final strands sweeping past her jawline. The bangs were swept to the right side of her face and held in place with a small, round black and silver clip.

She wore a grey skirt suit of a severely businesslike cut, the effect softened with the lapels, cuffs, and pocket flaps faced in red. The skirt fell just short of her knees and showed off quite shapely legs clad in a clear shade of nylon hosiery. Over her left arm was the strap of a large brown leather briefcase, but Edward was staring in shock at her eyes.

They were large and almond-shaped, and fringed with long black lashes. She had applied liner around the eyes, and shadow in a dark bronze shade. But what really startled Edward was the vivid red color of the irises.

"You're an Ishbalan!" he exclaimed in surprise.

Alphonse woke up with a gasp. He was in darkness, and it pressed heavily on his eyes until they become accustomed. Only then could they distinguish different layers of darkness, like the slivers of light around the door of his cell. Or the weak halo of light cast by a fat little candle set upon a small china dish, which sat on a small table next to the bed he lay on. He heard clothing rustling to his left, and Alphonse could guess who it was.

"You're awake at last," Sister Janette remarked crisply. "I was afraid your soup would get cold before long."

Alponse sat up slowly in the bed as Sister Janette adjusted his pillow, then set a small tray with stubby legs across his lap. "Officially, all blasphemers brought here for re-education are to be denied sustenance until they repent," she said while setting a bowl of thick red soup up on the tray. "But, unofficially, I've decided to make an exception because of your youth."

Alphonse picked up the spoon she had laid next to the bowl and he warily stirred the still hot soup. The fragrance of tomatoes, and something _nutty_ wafted up to his nose. A substance which looked like rice was swimmnig in the liquid and he looked at it suspiciously while his stomach growled in anticipation. His mouth began to water - he was very hungry - but still felt too much resentment and anger to eat.

"It's tomato and leek soup Alphonse. Just try it," Sister Janette urged. "It's been simmering all day, and is very healthy."

He took a spoonful, and blew on it before he tipped the spoon into his mouth. _Tomato leek soup, huh?_ He grimaced. It tasted more like a tomato and a leek had been soaked in hot water for an hour or so, and the result called "soup". After only a few mouthfuls, barely enough to satisfy his empty stomach, Alphonse tossed his spoon into the bowl in disgust. Soup slopped over the bowl's rim onto the tray, and he didn't care.

"Finish your soup, Alphonse."

"NO," he folded his arms and rearranged his expressive face into a pout which managed to look remarkably like his older brother's.

"Alphonse," Sister Janette's voice took on an edge of steely menace. He spared one surly glance at her face which was still in it's mask of perpetual amusement. Only her narrowed green eyes betrayed any hint of annoyance.

_I've__ met Mrs. Deadlocke, she's far scarier than you._

"Alphonse Phillipius Elric!"

He whipped his head around to face her, his chocolate-brown eyes, and his mouth rounded in surprise. "How - how did you know my full name?!" he demanded with growing anger fueled by unease. "Tell me!"

With one swift flick of his wrists, Alphonse sent the bowl, spoon and tray flying off the bed. The wooden tray clattered on the floor and the spoon went 'tink!' as it bounced end over end into a far corner of the cell. But the china bowl shattered against the door, sending the ersatz soup splashing all over the door and walls, where it dripped down on to the floor Keys rattled in the lock from the other side of the door,and Sister Janette called, "It's all right, Brother Zenos! Just a little disagreement!"

When the unlocking noises stopped, Sister Janette smiled at Alphonse, tapping the manila folder on her lap. "I know everything about you, well, almost everything," she smiled and ducked her head, the angry look gone from her eyes. "Tthere are some holes in our file. We are hoping you will cooperate and tell us."

"No! Never!" Alphonse shook his head emphatically, but he stopped suddenly when he felt an intense wave of vertigo wash over him.

"Shall I tell you what we do know, Alphonse?" Sister Janette opened the folder and he wondered why her face seemed to be going in and out of focus.

"Your full name," she began to read off a typewritten page. "Is Alphonse Phillipius Elric, and you were born August 31, 1899 in Risembool, a village in the south eastern quadrant of Amestris. Which makes you technically just eighteen months younger than your elder brother, Edward Paracelsus Elric. Your mother is Trisha Elric, nee Crawford. The Crawfords settled in Risembool over one hundred years ago, but before that, they were easy enough to trace. Yet your father, Hohenheim Elric, he is a different matter entirely. There doesn't seem to be any record of his existence, not even of his marriage to Trisha. Nor are there any records of the births of Edward and you. That is the first mystery."

Sister Janette folded her hands together, and rested her chin upon them. "Then there is the second mystery we hope to clear up. The calendar says it's late September of the year 1920. So you should be twenty-one, yet here you are, only sixteen years old. The third mystery is what happened in 1908, when you were allegedly nine and Edward was ten. All we know is, there was some sort of accident which resulted in Edward losing an arm and a leg. But, what happened to you? When the Elric brothers show up in East City a year later, you are inexplicably wearing a suit of ancient armor."

Alponse leaned back on his pillow when another wave of vertigo hit, but this one didn't go away and he closed his eyes against the dizziness. Sister Janette's voice seemed to come from far away.

"Alphonse. Did you notice anything odd about the soup?"

He cracked one eye open slightly. "You people can't make a proper soup, you mean?"

She chuckled, a rich, dark sound which stabbed at his soul. "No, Alphonse, you mean you can't tell?"

Alphonse started to shake his head, but he was forced to stop when wave after wave of dizziness began to assult his senses and make him feel nauseous.

"It was drugged, Alphonse. Drugged with a little something called sodium pentathol. But it has a more popular name, would you like to know what it is?"

Alphonse was only semi conscious by now, and he made no reply beyond a barely audible mumble.

"It's better known as truth serum, Alphonse. You didn't eat as much of the soup as I'd hoped, but maybe you ingested enough of the drug to make you talk." Alphonse said nothing, so Sister Janette set the file on the floor, leaned forward, and with one finger peeled back the lid of his left eye. Satisfied he was asleep, she got up and walked to the door. A knock brought Brother Zenos on the double. "He's ready. Go fetch the others."

A darker flush spread across the woman's cheekbones and Edward felt even his own face get warm. He had blurted out his exclamation very loudly and exquisitely timed just as there was a lull in the general chatter of the ward. Patients, nurses, orderlies, visitors, and one doctor stared at him curiously until Edward wished he could become invisible. Then one of the orderlies said, "Oh, it's just that bloody daft Amstrian!" and all shook their heads in wonder why he wasn't in the psychiatric ward.

Edward's neighbor in the next bed, an elderly man,whispered sotto voce to his visitor, "'E belongs in a straitjacket and a padded cell ' does! You shoulda 'erd 'im a yelling and carrying on yesterday. The little blighter must be all lungs!"

Edward ground his teeth together,and clenched his fists again for a moment before he reached over with his right hand to grab a curtain which ran on rails in the ceiling. He gave it a hard yank and the man, and all but his own visitors were shut out from view.

"Edward," Ian said quietly. "May I introduce Agent Amelia Dasher. Agent Dasher, this is Colonel Edward Elric." To show she wasn't insulted, Amelia sidled closer to Edward's right side and extended her right hand to shake. "In New Britain, my people are called Ishvarlians, Colonel Elric."

He reluctantly reached out his automail hand and very gently clasped her hand. He preferred to wear his white gloves when around people who weren't used to seeing automail because they tended to stare and point. But Amelia's red eyes opened only the barest fraction in response, and then only for an eyeblink. Then she closed her own hand over the automail and gave it the briefest pump before she let go.

Edward was on the verge of hiding his hand back under the bed sheet when he stopped and his face flushed again. Agent Dasher had seen his automail, and it didn't bother her. Why should it bother him? He blew a sigh and relaxed back against his pillow. Ian beamed like a proud parent who had defused a sibling squabble with brilliant diplomacy. "What you call 'Ishbalans', Edward, are the indigenous people of this world. Dark-skinned people with red eyes are the parent race of every country, and are known by many different names."

Edward waited a beat before he responded, "I - I guess, um, Amestrians aren't as cultured as I thought. He finished with a sheepish smile and a rub to the back of his head. Now thoroughly embarassed by his immature behavior, he had a strong urge to hide his head underneath the sheets.

Agent Dasher opened the leather briefcase and brought out a folder, also in brown leather, "You will want to see this, Colonel Elric." Glad for something to do, Edward took the folder, snapped open its clasp, and drew out a buff cardboard expanding folder. It was fat with files, and he pulled them out and spread them across his lap. A piece of paper atop them was marked **'TOP SECRET'** , and **'DO NOT REMOVE'** in thick red letters.

"I felt you needed to know everything about the people who kidnapped Alphonse," Ian explained. "I was given special dispensationm to take this from HQ." His unspoken hope was that Edward would reciprocate and spill some of his own secrets. Each of the manila files had a single name written on the top in thick black letters, and a picture was pasted below each name. Edward recognized some of them immediately:

**JOSEPH CARPENTER**

**JOSEPH COAT**

**JONAH WHALE**

**SOLOMON GRUNDEE** was the name linked to a photo of the bald man Edward had fought in the alchemist society building, and **JESU PALME** the long haired man Solomon had attempted to rescue. Edward wasn't interested in these people and he quickly flipped to the sixth file in the pile. The picture was of a person he didn't recognize, a serene looking woman with green eyes, her hair covered with a blue scarf.

**JANETTE SEMPLE**. Edward opened the folder and he began to read the first, typewritten page, and his blood ran cold before he reached the end. What he was reading was the transcript of an interview with the recently rescued Trinity Eldritch, who named this Janette as her 're-educator'. She had been deprived of food, water and sleep for fifteen hours after her kidnapping, and just when Trinity could no longer take it and was ready to break, a woman calling herself Sister Janette had intervened. She had taken the frightenened and sobbing teen away, removed the burlap bag from her head and given her a bed to sleep on. When she woke up, she was allowed food and water.

This gentle treatment had lasted for a period of three days - seventy-two hours - while Sister Janette tried to convince her to 'repent', to 'cast off the evil called alchemy', and convert to the Christian faith. But Trinity refused to admit she was a 'blasphemer' in those three days, and then the gloves came off. The light in her cell was turned off, and two other women replaced Janette. They hit Trinity and told her she would be burned alive at the stake, and God would send her to hell after she died in the flames. After two days of abuse, Janette had come to Trinity again and begged, 'with tears in her eyes' for Trinity to convert.

The girl still had the will to refuse, and at dawn the next morning, her wrists had been tied together behind her back, she was blindfolded, and a rope was put around her neck. Then she was led outside by one of the women, while the other one repeatedly shoved her from behind. After a few yards, she was picked up and lifted into a truck. After a drive Trinity estimated lasted an hour, perhaps two, the truck stopped and she was taken out. The two women took over again, her blindfold was removed and she found herself on a flat, muddy meadow. Ahead of her was a circle of six large wooden poles encircled by wooden platforms about six feet up. The two women pushed and pulled her to the nearest pole, and up a ladder to the platform She was untied, but her wrists were immediately put into iron fetters. Janette had followed them up, and she asked one more time for Trinity to 'repent'.

The girl refused one last time, and Janette, sobbing as if her heart would break, climbed down the ladder. Then bundles of kerosene-soaked wood were piled around the pole, the pile rising higher until they had almost reached the level of the platform. That was when someone shouted, "STOP! In the name of the Queen!"

Acting on a tip from an informant, agents of MI-7, the New British Secret Service, and the local police raided the Christian compound and rescued not just Trinity, but some other members of alchemic families. Unfortunately, although the 'burning ground' was uncovered, the agents were unable to find the prison she and the others had been kept in. Testimony from Trinity and the other rescued alchemists led them to believe it was underground and cleverly hidden.

Edward couldn't read anymore. He shut the file on Sister Janette and stared at her photo with unfocused eyes. Trinity was first shown cruelty, then kindness, and finally cruelty again in an attempt to break her. Back in the day, he'd seen Mustang double team suspected terrorists in this fashion. 'Bad soldier, nice soldier', Roy had called it. With his imposing physical presence, Major Armstrong usually got the 'bad soldier role. While Major Hughes and his gift of gab was the 'nice soldier'.

Eventually, being the 'heavy' got to the big hearted Strong Arm Alchemist and Maes became the 'bad soldier' until he was murdered. Roy took over the 'bad soldier' role and he assigned Second Lieutenant Havoc - who also had the gift of gab - to be the nice guy.

But the psychological tactics of the Christians wasn't what was bothering Edwrd. It was Sister Janette's face, she looked so familiar, like someone he had recently met...

He pinched his eyes shut, which caused Ian to ask, "Edward? Are you in pain?"

"I must be thinking too much Ian, my brain hurts." Edward mumbled. He was still cold inside.

_Are they doing this to Al right now?_

There was a seventh file folder underneath Janette's, but Edward really did have a headache. He gathered up the files and stuffed them back inside the buff folder before shoving them underneath his pillow. One of Ian's eyebrows rose and and one side of his mouth twitched, "You going to sleep on it, Edward?"

"Yeah," he laid back with his left hand over his face.

"Very well," Ian stood up. "I have some leads to check out, so I'll leave Agent Dasher with you." She had been standing quietly, hands folded and looking at the floor, but she looked up quickly when Ian said that.

"But, sir..." she began to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her.

"No buts, Agent Dasher, you're on desk duty for a while anyways. So you might as well stay here and keep Colonel Elric company."

Alphonse cautiously opened his right eye to a narrow slit. After a moment's observation through the curtain of his long eyelashes confirmed he was alone, he rolled off the bed and stood up next to it. He swayed when a sharp wave of vertigo crashed against his senses and he nearly fell down. Staggering more sideways than forwards, Alphonse went to the furthest corner of the cell and sank to his knees. He waited there for a moment, trembling, because he dreaded what he was about to do.

_No time like the present_, he thought, opened his mouth, and stuck his index finger down his throat. He choked, then retched, but nothing came up. Alphonse tried again and he retched more loudly. The sound echoed about the cell and he listened hard, afraid someone might have heard. He had one more chance. This time, Alphonse stuck both his index, and his longest finger down his throat, as far as they could go. His gag reflex kicked in, but he resolutely held the fingers there until his stomach contracted three times and finally gave its all.

He coughed several times after regurgitating the last of the drugged soup, spat once, then rose shakily to his feet. Murmuring voices could be heard approaching. As quickly as he could, Alphonse staggered back to the bed and fell into it, his job done. Trying to ignore the burning sensation in his throat, and the soreness in his abdominal muscles, he closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

Sleep had also claimed Edward, despite his determination to stay awake. Amelia sat in the chair Ian had vacated, and she watched the Amestrian twitch and mutter in the throes of a vivid dream. She had taken a romance novel (Conquest of Love, number thirty-seven in the _Ishvarlians In Love_ book series) from the briefcase and was trying very hard to concentrate on the purple prose ("...her lush breasts heaving like the waves of a stormy sea, Rose shrank back against the side of the tent as the evil Xingian prince, his intent to violate her clear on his angular face, kept advancing upon her...") But she stopped reading, and started listening when Colonel Elric began to talk in his sleep.

"No. Oh, please, no! It's a rebound! Al! Alphonse! He's - he's gone! We failed. Mom, I'm - sorry. I didn't want this to happen. Oh - ouch! It hurts! OW! Please, please - stop! My head, it's about to burst!"

Edward's face twisted in pain and he gasped a few heavy breaths.

"I - I understand now. Please! Just a few more minutes. I want to learn the truth! AL! AL! Give him back, damn you! He's the only brother I have, give him back!

The novel slipped, unnoticed to the floor as Amelia learned forward. She was listening so hard, she didn't realize her lips were slightly parted and she was halfway out of the chair. Edward's lips were still moving, but he now spoke so softly Amelia could catch only snatches of words. She slipped completely off the chair and sat on the edge of his bed, then leant down closer until they were almost nose to nose. Warm air puffed from his mouth and ticked her throat as he muttered.

_What is he saying?_

"Winry," Colonel Elric murmuered quietly, "I love you." He moaned softly just before his metal fingers dove into Amelia's hair. Then a startled "mmph!" was all she could utter when the sleeping Edward began to kiss her passionately.


	31. Chapter 31

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I just like to play around in this world and annoy the canon characters for awhile.

**Warning: **Some chapters contain violence, bad language, and movie spoilers

**Beta:** Jedimasterwithapen

_Chapter 31_ In which Edward meets a man from his past, and a woman named Mathilde spins an improbable tale.

_Konig Dance Hall, Cologne, Germany. October, 1924_

Two weekends after his dance hall "debut", Edward was dancing a Viennese waltz with the Baron von Rentinburg when he saw the very man he'd been seeking for almost a year:

_Huskisson_

He wore this world's clothing styles, and his face was bare of that ridiculous mask, but Edward recognized him almost instantly. The Baron noticed Edward's attention had wandered and he frowned with concern, "Edward? What is the matter?"

"Baron, that man over there," they made another series of graceful turns, Edward's feet automatically keeping pace. "I met him once, years ago." With each turn, Edward swiveled his head so he could keep Huskisson in sight.

"You mean the Count de Saint-Germain?" The Baron's frown deepened, making the puckered scar on his face look even more livid. "He showed up, oh, four years ago in Berlin. The Count isn't interested in dancing, so I don't really know why he comes here. Maybe it's just to look down his nose at people. He claims to be a _pure scientist_, but I think he's really just a snob."

Edward grinned evilly to himself. _Count de Saint-Germain, huh?_ Back in Amestris, Huskisson had looked down upon alchemists, but in this world he had taken the name of an infamous charlatan who had posed as an alchemist. What delicious irony.

"I need to speak with him." Edward kept swiveling his head to keep Huskisson in sight. His heart was pounding harder, and he was afraid the rogue scientist would disappear if he didn't keep him in view. "We have some unfinished business. Would you please introduce us once the dance is over?"

"Since you put it so nicely, Edward," the Baron rearranged his face into a smile, but his eyes still looked doubtful. "Yes, I shall do as you ask."

After the final notes of the waltz faded away, the Baron linked arms with Edward and led him over to the Count, who slouched aesthetically against a wall near a motley collection of wall flowers and other non-dancers. As von Rentinburg had feared, the Count narrowed his eyes and sneered when he noticed them approaching. Then he turned his back in a cold and deliberate snub.

The Baron didn't allow the motion to intimidate him, although one eyebrow was twitching with anger. The Count swiveled to his left and spoke over his shoulder, "I've seen and dismissed you as unimportant, you may leave now."

But Edward stepped forward just then and he flashed Huskisson a dazzling smile. "Hallo, Huskisson, do you remember me?" Edward's smile broadened to show even more of his sharp white teeth when the older Amestrian's face turned ashen. "We have to talk, so let's take a little walk outside."

"What are you doing here?" Huskisson hissed,a new note of fear in his voice which the Baron picked up. Saint-Germain was _afraid_ of Edward for some reason. "I don't have _it_ anymore!"

"I know _that_, I saw the picture of those people with _it_," Edward pitched his voice just high enough for Huskisson to hear him over the blare of music. "I just want to know how you managed to lose a uranium bomb."

Something deep inside was telling him not to trust de Saint-German,and the Baron stepped closer to his young friend. But Edward turned back towards him and beamed a cheerful smile in his direction, "It's all right, Baron. Go have yourself a glass of punch and relax. I don't think our little chat will take long."

He turned his gaze back towards Huskisson "There is a little private terrace just outside that door," Edward pointed at a plain wooden one set into the wall a few yards away. "We can talk there without being overheard. You will tell me where I can find _it_, because I'm not going to leave you alone until you do. So let's go outside and get this over with."

As Edward grabbed the reluctant Huskisson by his right sleeve and propelled him out the door and down a short corridor, he felt strangely _savage_ inside. Knowing Huskisson and his damn bomb fell into German hands was the main reason he returned to this world. Barely had the pair exited an outer door and stepped out into the cool night air on the terrace did Edward whirl Huskisson around and slam him against the wall.

"Damn you, Huskisson! If it wasn't for you and your stupid bomb, I would have stayed in Amestris! I wouldn't have come back here after we beat off the Thule invasion, and my little brother wouldn't have followed me here! You and your stupid pride has put two worlds at risk!" He finished with an angry growl. "Never thought of that, did you?!"

Now it was Huskisson's turn to glare. "PRIDE!!" He yelped in outrage."You want to talk _pride_, little man?!" Sparks flew from Edward's golden eyes, but Huskisson didn't let him get a word in edgewise.

"Because of the pride of you damn alchemists, scientists like me were treated like vermin in Amestris! I offered the military a powerful new weapon on a silver platter, and you turned your nose up like I'd presented you with a pile of turds! The uranium bomb represents the warfare of the future, and that is why you rejected it.Because you were AFRAID! Afraid I would expose just how pitiful your precious alchemy is. A little bird told me it doesn't work in this world." Huskisson poked one finger hard into Edward's chest. "So how", _poke_ "does", _poke_"it feel to, _poke_"be the helpless",_poke,_one? To be, _poke _useless?"

With each poke, Huskisson drove Edward back a step until his back touched a decorative metal railing,and the older man pressed his advantage until his sneering face was nose to nose with Edward's angry one. "You are nothing here, you stupid alchemist, NOTHING! And best of all, you can't do a damn thing about it!"

Edward gulped hard and he tried to swallow his anger, he needed to know where the bomb was. Huskisson was right, without alchemy he was helpless...

_No! Dammit! I may not be the Fullmetal Alchemist here,but I'm NOT helpless, I'm NOT useless!_ His mind screamed. _I can still destroy that bomb, because if that is the warfare of the future, BOTH our worlds are still in danger!_

"You're wrong, Huskisson," he said softly.

"What's that, boy?" Huskisson's dark eyes glittered with triumph,or maybe just madness. Edward couldn't tell. "I don't hear you admitting the truth. And the truth is..."

"You're wrong!" Edward shouted,his conviction growing. He pushed himself upright off the railing and took a step forward, forcing Huskisson to step back. "Look at how many people died to mine your uranium! The ends didn't justify the means to bring about your precious _future of warfare_!"

"What about all the innocent people who died in the Ishbalan rebellion!" Huskisson screamed at full volume. "Your Fuhrer kept Amestris in a constant state of war for over thirty years! Where was your concern for human life then?!"

"I had nothing to do with that! Edward bellowed louder,their "talk" was turning into a shouting match. "The Fuhrer was part of a conspiracy that began before I was even born! A conspiracy to create a Philosopher's Stone using the human souls from deaths in the wars; but I put a stop to the master of the homunculi; and Colonel Mustang destroyed the Fuhrer."

The volume of their yelling had become so loud; neither of them noticed the man watching them from the shelter of some evergreen bushes.

_Alchemists? Amestris?_ It all went over the head of Rufus McCord, but his ears pricked up at _uranium bomb_. He was very glad he'd chosen this terrace for a private smoke of his marijuana cigarette. If he could just manage to overhear the location of this device, he would have some valuable information to sell to the right party.

"Where is it, Huskisson?" Edward demanded. "I need to know,so Al and I can destroy it!"

"You stupid boy!" Huskisson's lips drew back in a feral snarl of his own. "You can't just destroy a uranium bomb, it would explode! How would you contain the energy it releases? If that bomb went off, it would instantly kill everyone within a one hundred yard radius. The radiation it releases will spread for hundreds, no _thousands_ of miles and sicken every person it touches. The lucky ones will die quickly, and the rest..."

Huskisson spread out his hands,cocked his head, and smiled wickedly at Edward. "Thousands, perhaps millions of souls to fuel alchemic reactions back in our world. Are you prepared to take on the responsibility for all those deaths?"

The two men were silent for a few heartbeats, except for their angry panting. Edward slumped against the railing, his mind racing in vain search for a retort to Huskisson's admission. But the older man beat him to it:

"I have nothing further to say to you," Huskisson curled his lip again in a sneer, or a snarl, Edward couldn't tell in the dim moonlight. "But I can assure it's safely hidden where no one can find it. So you see,even a mere _scientist_ can do something right."

He made a half turn towards the door, but paused and added, "It's won't be a good idea for you to approach me again. It might make other people suspicious. Good evening!"

Huskisson finished his turn and stalked straight towards the door, wrenched it open, and walked through before he slammed it shut very hard behind him. Flummoxed at not getting the last word in, Edward just stared at the closed door. _I should be relieved the bomb is hidden,_ he told himself. _But why am I still so tense?_

Rufus McCord couldn't believe his luck. First, he had chanced upon some potentially lucrative information,and now that pretty boy he'd fantasized about was within reach. And his back was to him. For all his bulk, McCord could move very quietly. He was up the stone steps to the terrace in a few strides. His quarry was banging on the iron railing with his right fist while he softly muttered something over and over. A light breeze had picked up and it skittered dry leaves about like bones rattling, a perfect cover for his approach.

Just before he grabbed Edward, Rufus noticed the top railing was dented by the boy's hand, but he paused only briefly before he covered the final feet in two or three strides.

Rufus clapped his left hand over Edward's mouth, and as he had expected, his prize began to struggle and make angry noises. But he was prepared for that.

"Shhh,"he whispered, with whiskey soaked breath."You're so tense, just relax."

The clever fingers of his right hand located vital pressure points on Edward's neck and pushed them. The boy went rigid for a moment before he became limp,and Rufus kept his fingers in place for a few more seconds. Edward was unconscious and he would stay that way for a good hour. More than enough for Rufus to complete his _seduction_.

_Now then,_Rufus thought as he turned Edward in order to hoist him over his shoulder. _Where shall I do it?_ He chuckled to himself while he lurched back down the steps and wove between the bushes. It took a bit of searching, but he found a groundkeeper's tool shed hunkered down between two towering pine trees. He had to set Edward down in order to pick the lock, but the hardware yielded quickly. Rufus thought at first he would have to do it on the floor, but a work table in the middle of the shed looked to be the perfect height.

He set Edward face up on a bench set next to the table,stepped back and sucked in his breath. _Gods! He's beautiful! _Moonlight slanting in through a small window made Edward's face and hair look paler than they really were. Rufus's hungry eyes trailed down to his perfect throat, which rose from the open collar of a snowy white dress shirt.The front was plain with, deep, but unadorned pleats. Good choice that. Ruffles would have been too much.

Over the shirt was a black satin waistcoat,and that was topped with a short waisted, tailed coat in a rich shade of midnight blue. For contrast, the collar and lapels of the tail coat were faced with black satin; the pants were of a matching color, their only decoration being thin black satin stripes down the outside seam of each leg. On Edward's feet were black leather shoes with flexible soles, made for dancing. White silk gloves hid his hands. Rufus fingered the coat. Top grade long-combed cotton, beautifully cut and perfectly tailored to fit Edward's shape. The colors were an exquisite counterpoint to the younger man's creamy complexion, blond hair, and golden eyes.

_And he's mine, __all__ mine!_

_Near Oxford, January, 1926_

The morning post-breakfast meeting with the Viscount was pure torture for Edward and he had to fight to concentrate on his employer's every word.

At least he had progress to report.

"Rupert is doing very well with History and he is finally getting the hang of Philosophy, and Economics,"Edward reddened and rubbed the back of his head."But he's still struggling with Trigonometry and Physics.Yet, I'm not worried because he's really been applying himself."

"So, Smith-Jones, I want your honest opinion," the Viscount responded in his deep rumble. "Does Rupert have a chance of squeaking by next month?"

"Oh, I think he'll do better than that. I think Rupert will be more like the middle of the pack," Edward chuckled mildlly. "He's quite determined because he knows it's his final chance to get into university."

Edward suspected the real burr under Rupert's saddle was the age difference. The heir to Burnlae was embarrassed to be tutored by someone a year younger and four inches shorter. His previous tutors had all been middle aged, tall men used to looming threateningly over the young men or boys they instructed. Edward couldn't have "loomed" if his life depended on it. Not that he was going to tell the Viscount that.Better to let him think his son finally realized his future was at stake.

Fortunately, Edward completed the final lesson plan last week and he opened the spiral bound notebook to show the Viscount. "I'll stick to basic overviews of Grammar, History, and Latin because Rupert will just need a little polishing before the examination. We'll continue to work on Philosophy and Economics, so he doesn't get "rusty".

"Yet you can see by the plan I've sketched out, we will bear down intensely on Trigonometry and Physics. Along with basic Maths, these subjects will comprise a good twenty percent of the examination questions."

The Viscount looked at the plans and said little, except for the odd "Uh-hmm", accompanied by a nod of understanding. Edward would sneak a glance at the older man's face very now and again but Viscount Burnlae cultivated what is called a _poker face._ So Edward couldn't tell if he was utterly clueless, or just pretending.

Edward stepped back and folded his hands in front of himself when he had finished speaking and waited. The Viscount looked over the lesson plans one more time before he flipped the notebook closed and handed it back to Edward.

And then-he smiled. The Viscount rarely smiled at his servants, other people's servants or anyone else lower in social status. It was a sure sign he was pleased with this tutor's performance. "You've done a tremendous job, Smith-Jones. Of course, the university exam will be the acid test, but whatever the outcome, I will give you top marks for your hard work."

The Viscount paused and looked at his watch. "It's almost nine a.m. Rupert will have finished his breakfast and headed upstairs to the school room. So, I will leave you to it. Good morning!"

That was the Viscount's signal the meeting was over. Edward bowed and took two steps back before he spun on one heel and went to the study door. He opened it and passed over the threshold. He was on the verge of closing the door when the Viscount cleared his throat.

Edward froze.

"Smith-Jones, another moment of your time, please?"

Ten minutes later, Edward was hard at work, drilling Rupert on his Latin verb forms. His plan from now until February was to start his student out on a subject he'd mastered, like Latin, then work on something he was having trouble with. Mixing hard and easy subjects would prevent Rupert from becoming discouraged. Edward leaned back on the battered old wooden table which served as his "desk" and nodded in time with the cadence of Rupert's speech.

The twenty year old Rupert James William Vincent Burnlae was the stereotypical young British male: tall, handsome, intelligent (more or less), sandy haired and square jawed. His physical attributes were embellished with great lashings of charm, plus a healthy sense of humor,and a near total absence of snobbishness. He'd never been serious about anything in his life and the first time Edward had seen him, Rupert had a volume of 'Boys Own Adventure Stories' clutched in one hand.

Rupert was a daydreamer and would have been more than happy to be exploring dusty Egyptian tombs, fighting his way through a dark South American jungle, or battling pirates off the coast of China.

But the closest he would get to adventure would be four arduous years at Oxford. Unless he failed the entrance examination in March. Then he would be shipped off to South Africa to oversee the family business holdings.

He finished reciting the verb forms and Edward praised him, "Well, it sounds like you can conjugate verbs in your sleep by now."

Two red spots appeared high in Rupert's cheeks and Edward continued, "But, let's try something a little more challenging. Please open your Economics text book to page one-hundred and twelve."

Rupert rolled his eyes and groaned, "Can't we go back to Latin?"

By lunch time, the pair covered Latin, Economics, Grammar, and Physics. A pretty house maid brought them sandwiches and coffee, plus some sour cream tarts for afters. While they ate, Rupert slouched in his hard wooden chair, and Edward sat on top of the table, his legs dangling. It bothered Edward slightly he couldn't quite touch the floor, but he was satisfied with knowing he _was_ growing a bit. He could point his feet downwards and touch the floor with his toes, but only when no one was looking.

Rupert was down to the last bites of his roast beef and onion sandwich, spread with creamy horseradish when he paused and asked, "Say, Smith-Jones, if we finish this before tea time, can we spar in the back garden again?"

Edward's mouth was full of his sandwich,roast turkey and tomato, topped with mustard, but he shifted the half-chewed mass of food to one side of his mouth and replied in the affirmative. He'd pushed his worry about the Drachmans to the back of his mind, but it was hard going. Raising a good sweat from sparring would be just what he needed to clear his mind and come up with a new plan. But maybe he wouldn't need one. He lived in a house full of people.It's not as if Mathun would be able to snatch him and Alphonse out from under the noses of a small army of servants.

The Viscount grilled him halfheartedly about the letter he'd received, but Edward succeeded in convincing him it was nothing. Just some village tough jealous over a girl's affections, thought he could intimidate him. Edward thought he had convinced him, but a thought niggled beneath his worry the older man wasn't completely snowed.

From the large windows of the school room where generations of Burnlae children had been taught their alphabet and numbers, Edward could just see to the far end of the grounds. Behind a screen of bushes was the back garden, actually a small parcel of lawn, sunken below the level of the flower garden which abutted.It hadn't been a garden for some fifty years, but it retained the name.

It was screened from the more formal gardens by a dense evergreen hedge and here he and Alphonse had found a secret place to spar, work off excess energy and stay fit. The brothers were curious about the estate. After Al came home from school and changed into some old clothes, they would take a stroll and explore the grounds; brothers reconnecting after a day apart. They discovered the old garden by accident one day, and Alphonse first realized it's potential. He tested it by punching Edward's left shoulder.

Edward promptly retaliated by grabbing the offending arm and flipping Alphonse backward through the air. Ten minutes later, they lay on their backs in the soft grass, heads touching while they panted happily.

"That was fun!" gasped Alphonse.

"Yeah," Edward drawled in reply, "I'd didn't realize how much I missed sparring."

Weather permitting they sparred every day, except for Sunday.Sunday was "the Lord's Day" and they had to go with the other servants to an ancient, white washed stone church in the village of Burnlae Halt. The brothers would sit silently in a rear pew and pretend to pay attention to the sermons,which were deathly dull. One of these days, the earnest young vicar who had been granted the "living" only a few years ago was going to bore someone to death. Well, that's what Simpkins predicted,and Alphonse had to put his hands over his mouth to keep back a bubble of laughter every time he thought of it.

One bright day in December, Rupert went looking for his spare cricket gear;but the pieces weren't in the game room where he'd thought he'd put them. After Lincoln informed him the Smith-Jones brothers had a pair of shin guards and gauntlets in their possession, he'd gone out looking for the two.

He was wandering, frustrated through the bottom flower garden when he heard the sounds of running feet, colliding bodies,and heavy breathing. He crept closer to the hedge and was surprised to see his tutor first go rolling past a gap in the greenery, then come flashing back in a dead run.

Alphonse was wearing the cricket gear, to protect his limbs, hands and feet from bruises caused by connecting with Edward's automail. It hadn't been a problem when he had been just a soul attached to a suit of armor, but a strike from him against Edward's right arm caused him to yelp with pain. He had a nasty bruise the next day and he had to hit the automail limbs gently for a while.

Until Edward, curious about the warren of back rooms in the mansion had found the dusty and apparently discarded shin guards and gauntlets. They worked like a charm and the Elric's sparring was just like the old days again: knock-down and drag-out.

The brothers froze in place when Rupert cleared his throat with a loud "AHEM!". Both of them looked so horrified, he nearly burst out laughing. Fortunately, he was more curious than cross. Alphonse was making an inspired use of the cricket gear, although it was Edward's prosthetic limbs which astonished him. So he made a deal with them. He would keep their secret, if they let him join in on their daily sparring matches.

They agreed, and met the next afternoon in the back garden. Afraid of injuring the heir to Burnlae House, the brothers went easy on him at first. But Rupert was a strong young man, fond of sport and ready for anything. He soon got more than he could handle. Edward was fast as lightning and his little brother knew quick moves Rupert had never seen before. He was going to miss sparring and the Smith-Jones brothers once he passed the university examination.

It was back to work once the lunch break was over: Philosophy, British History, Trigonometry, and British Poltics. Rupert had a natural gift of gab and he thought after completing his four years at Oxford, he would like"a spot of messing about in Parliament". The local seat would be open by the time he graduated, and it was a "safe" Conservative one.

He was telling Smith-Jones he wanted to do this for himself not jut to please his parents when the school room clock struck the quarter hour after three p.m. Rupert wondered where Alphonse was, the school bus should be back at Burnlae House by now.

Quick footsteps came pounding up the uncarpeted back stairs leading to the floor the school room was on, one story below the servant's quarters. But it was Lincoln, not Alphonse who burst into the room.

"Lincoln?" Edward asked first in concern, then with growing alarm when he noticed the frightened look on the boy's face. "Lincoln,what happened? Where's Al?"

It took the boot boy a few minutes to get enough breath back to speak, "Aw, Master Rupert! Mr. Edward! Somethin' horrid has happened! We were on our way back from the village and just before we made the last bend before the gates, we sawr a flash black motor right in front of the bus!" (Translation: a fancy black car was blocking the road.)

Rupert sank to his knees in front of Lincoln and gently held the shoulders of the trembling boy. But he didn't interrupt, not even to ask the obvious question: What happened next?

"Two whacking great men got out of the car and just shoved their way on to the bus. We was all terrified, but Al seemed the most scared. He opened a winder and jumped out, just before they could grab him. He scarpered off into Burnlae Park, and those two men just turned about and walked back off the bus. They got into the car, pulled it out of the way and just drove off. It were very queer, I tells ya!"

"Al." Edward had gotten off the table and he stood there, frozen. Mathun and his gang were making their move. That meant he had to act-FAST-to foil their kidnapping plans. "Master Rupert, will you excuse me please? I must go and find Al. He's probably scared out of his wits."

It ocurred to Rupert this was like one of those adventure stories he loved to read. He stood up and put one hand on Edward's right shoulder, which shook with suppresed emotion. "I'll go with you! I've played in the park since I was little, and I know it like the back of my hand. We'll find Alphonse."

He looked down at the boot boy. "Lincoln, will you round up Simpkins and the others, please? We need to form a search party."

Lincoln looked briefly astonished at the word "please" coming from Master Rupert's lips, and then he whirled and bolted out of the room and down the back stairs,all the way down to the kitchens.

Almost immediately afterwards, the Viscount, and the village constable were startled to hear footsteps pounding down the _front_ stairs. The Viscount was astonished to see his son's tutor come hurtling down the steps, and then his son right on the younger man's heels. Smith-Jones threw open the front door and virtually _flew_ outside, but Rupert paused briefly to say, "Sorry, Dad, rescue mission, important work, ta-ta!"

Edward had paused only long enough to run up to his and Alphonse's room and grab his coat. Now he pounded down the driveway towards the park, fear for Alphonse lending wings to his feet. He had to find him before Mathun and his gang did.

_If there is trouble, find someplace to hide...I'll meet you at four o'clock at the place we agreed on._

_Konig Dance Hall, Cologne, Germany, October 1924_

Rufus's breathing quickened as his undid the button at the waistband and unzipped Edward's dress pants. He pushed them down to the younger man's ankles, then stopped and stared in astonishment at Edward's left leg. "Extraordinary!"

He gently tugged on the metal and Edward groaned quietly,so Rufus stopped, his heart in his mouth. But the blonde didn't come to and Rufus blew a loud sigh of relief. Maybe he would keep Edward with him for awhile, someone out there would surely jump at the chance to acquire him and that amazing prosthetic leg. For a pretty penny too.

There was one empty cell left in the hidden room of Rufus's house in Berlin from which he ran his human trafficking enterprise. Edward Bauer would be a rare find, a change of pace from his usual stock of war orphans and Gypsy boys. And he would partially assuage the sting of his failure to acquire Pferd. The purple pipsqueak had eyes in the back of his head so sneaking up on him was so far impossible.

Rufus flipped the unconscious Edward over and his groin muscles tightened causing him to grunt with pain. He unfastened his own pants, and then hesitated. Perhaps he shouldn't use Edward. If left a _virgin _he would command a much higher price. The door of the shed creaked, and Rufus looked back sharply, but the entrance was empty. _It's just the wind_, he told himself.

He put one hand on Edward's light blue boxers and pulled them partway down. He grunted again as his arousal stiffened. There was a very prominent bulge in the front of his own pants,the tip peaking out the gap in his boxers. Rufus had desired Edward from the first instant he saw him, and it was so unfair to finally have this delectable little morsel in his grasp, then deny himself the pleasure of tasting it.

If only once.

"Dammit, I shall have him now," Rufus whispered quietly. He pulled Edward's boxers all the way down to his ankles, then stepped back and spat on his fingers. Rufus rubbed the spittle around before he reached forward to push his slick fingers inside...

**"SCHWIENHUNDT!" **A voice bellowed and a shadow fell across Rufus. He whirled around just in time to receive a heavy blow right in the face. A loud crack signaled some of his teeth breaking, and blood sprayed from his nose to spatter the walls, floor, Rufus, and his attacker. Then the big man crashed to the floor with a thud which shook the shed.

"Ungh..."

Edward groaned when he slowly opened his eyes, then grunted and shut them again against the sunlight streaming across his face. After a moment, he re-opened them but only to slits to regard the ceiling. It was a beautiful example of baroque style plasterwork, although yellowed by time and smoke.

"Where am I?" he said to no one in particular. Only dust motes whirled in the sunlight to hear the question. Edward tried to think back. He was still outside, lamenting his ham-fisted handling of Huskission when someone had clapped a hand over his mouth, and then pressed fingers to the side of his neck. His body iced when he remembered a despised voice whispering in his ear.

_McCord. What did that bastard do to me?_

He shifted his gaze to the left, right,then forward. He couldn't see much except large, dark pieces of exquisitely carved furniture, and a smooth mound of blankets. Edward was lying on his back and tucked in to a cocoon of warmth. But now he began to sweat with trepedation when the door opened and soft footsteps crossed the floor to the bed he lay in.

Edward turned his head to his left and was surprised when the Baron von Rentinburg entered his field of view. At least he _thought_ it was the Baron. The scar and the monocle were still there, but the oil had been washed out of the short hair, so it looked fluffy and soft. And the uniform had been replaced by a light blue dressing gown over a dusky pink negligee, its neckline low enough Edward could see the Baron had - breasts.

_Baroness?_

"Edward? How are you feeling?" the voice was the same, clear and crisp one used to issuing commands, if a bit softer. Feeling ever more confused, Edward cocked his head on the overstuffed pillow and stared.

A memory swam to the surface of his mind: _"Edward, this is the Baron von Rentinburg. She's rather eccentric, but completely harmless."_

The door opened and closed again as another pair of footsteps, lighter in tread, crossed the floor. The Baron turned and addressed the newcomer, "Hallo, Klaus. He's awake, but not talking. I'm afraid McCord might have broken him."

A hand grabbed Edward's left foot and shook it, while a voice happily samg out, "Wakey, wakey! Toast and cakey!" Edward growled in response and yanked the foot away. He raised his head and scowled at the far too cheery countenance of a boy with long black hair tied into a low ponytail.

It took him another few beats to recognize Pferd. Without his makeup on, he looked like a child dressed in just a simple woolen nightshirt. A purple nightshirt to be sure, but miles away from the gaudy suits he favored.

Pfered/Klaus ignored Edward's death glare and threw a dazzling smile at him. "Look at that face!" he cheerily informed the Baron. "If he's cranky, that means he'll be just fine." He looked back at Edward and asked, "Are you hungry?"

Edward had wanted to snap, 'No, I'm not hungry! What I want are some answers!' But his stomach responded to Klaus's question with a loud grumble.

To his annoyance, both Klaus and von Rentinburg laughed at the sound. "Stop laughing, dammit! For how long have you two been making a fool of me?!"

Von Rentinburg's face sobered instantly although she couldn't quite keep the chuckle out of her voice. "I'm sorry, Edward. It wasn't my intent to make a fool of you in particular. But I've been fooling the whole world for a long time."

"Why did you do it?" Edward felt a tiny tug of curiosity despite his anger. "I mean, why go to all this trouble? For starters, you have to bind your breasts,and hide your- curves, and..." he trailed off, suddenly embarressed by his rudeness.

"I hide my womanly curves by wrapping a band of material around my waist," the Baron didn't seem perturbed by Edward's probing question, indeed, there seemed to be palpable sense of relief she no longer had to 'pretend' around him. "The rest was merely a matter of training and self- discipline."

"As to _why_," she pitched her voice even more softly and Edward heard a whisper of the original tone. "It was to survive, Edward. My full name is Mathilde Louise Katerina Beatrice von Rentinburg, and I was the oldest daughter of the ninth Baron von Rentinburg. Because I was a tall girl, all arms and legs, I wasn't very graceful. Plus the things girls were supposed to like-tea parties, dolls, shopping-bored me.

My father let me learn things girls weren't usually allowed to learn: marksmanship, sword play, education in mathematics and the classic languages, and horsemanship. But under the Salic laws of Germany, girls are not allowed to inherit the title of "Baron". Despite my proficiency, I was deemed less worthy than my two younger brothers."

Edward kept his gaze on Mathilde's face, but he couldn't detect any trace of _dissembling_ in her eyes. He stayed silent and let her continue with her story.

"In the summer of my twelveth year my family went to our summer house in the foothills of the Alps, hard by the Swiss border. Father stayed behind in Berlin because he had to work during the week, but he would join us for the weekend.

I had a bad sore throat on one Friday he was to arrive, so I stayed in bed when mother, my brothers, and some of the family servants went to pick him up from the train station in the village below. But there was an accident on the way down the mountain..."

Edward's throat went dry, "What kind of accident?"

Mathilde shrugged, "Oh, spooked horses, overturned carriage, a rushing river. Only the driver's body was ever found, and that was weeks later. At nightfall, I woke up alone in the house."

"Wait a minute," Edward held up one hand, he vaguely noted it was his automail one. "Did all the servants go?"

"My mother brought her personal ladies maid, plus one parlor maid with us from Berlin. The rest-the cook, two other parlor maids, the scullery maid- they were all "seasonals" from the village. And they had worked for another family last summer. So they were total strangers to me. There were some outdoor servants-gardeners, and stablemen who worked for us year after year-but only Father dealt with them."

"Everyone you knew was dead," Edward said in a flat voice, then swallowed. "That must have been terrible."

Mathilde ducked her head, but Edward could see her eyelashes sparkling with unshed diamond-like tears. Time can only dull the pain of losing family members, but it never faded away completely. At odd moments, a person could be ambushed by any little thing: a scent, a sound, a picture, or simply _remembering_ an incident.

"My father hired a station gig to bring him to the house and along the way, they found the accident scene. He returned to town and informed the authorities, so it wasn't after midnight that he arrived at the house. I heard the gig arrive, and I met him at the door. I remember him turning white as a sheet when he saw me. For the last time in my life, I burst into tears and sobbed on his chest when he told me what happened.

Neither of us had any appetite after that, so I returned to bed and he sat up in front of the parlor fire for the rest of the night. When I can down a few hours later-I hardly slept-my father broached an audacious plan."

Edward didn't interrupt, although his stomach did emit another plaintive growl. Klaus got up from the chair he was sitting in. "I'm familiar with the story, so I'll fetch Edward some breakfast. He looks utterly riveted."

The boy tripped to the door, opened it and disappeared but left it ajar.

Mathilde sighed, "There isn't much more to tell. My father's plan involved cutting my hair short and dressing me in the clothes left by my ten year old brother, Hieronymous. He successfully passed me off as him back in Berlin, and as I grew up, I bound my breasts and learned to walk and talk as a man does."

She tilted her head and smiled at Edward, and he was reminded of a friendly bird of prey. "Did you know Edward, that men swagger when they walk?"

Edward blinked at this unexpected question because he'd never considered himself to be a "swaggerer". He supposed Colonel Mustang had swaggered, and he noticed some of the brasher carnies did so too. Did Winry swagger? He frowned to himself. When she was carrying a wrench, and approaching him with a certain 'take-off-your-shirt-so-I-can-tighten-some-bolt-Ed' look in her eye. Yes, he supposed Winry did swagger then.

"Edward?"

He blinked, flinched, and re-focused his eyes. "Sorry, Mathilde," he mumbled.

"I'll make this quick then. Father and I were taking a huge risk to carry out this plan, because discovery would have meant financial and social ruin. Yet he took his secret to the grave. Klaus found out by accident, but he has sworn not to tell. Which leaves you, Edward."

He didn't hesitate to raise his right hand, "I swear I will never give away your secret, not even if I'm tortured."

Mathilde laughed when he finished, a rich bubbling sound which gave Edward a brief glimpse of the girl she used to be.

"As for the scar," Mathildre traced on finger down the puckered flesh. "I received that in a duel while I attended Nuremburg University."

"Tough school."

"Actually," Mathilde's eyebrows arched like cantilevers. "I was dueling over a girl's honor, and fortunately I lost that one. Otherwise, I would have been obligated to marry her. But I did win the other nine duels I participated in." She finished with a dry chuckle.

Edward ventured a question, and he wasn't sure how it would be received. "Did you see action in the Great War?"

Mathilde's eyes darkened with pain again and Edward felt a stab of guilt. "Yes. I commanded an artillery battalion on the Somme. Unlike my fellow officers, I was on the front lines everyday, even in the middle of battle. On several occasions, a shell nearly put me under the front lines. My troops loved me for risking my life like that, and many of them gladly died for their country. Loyalty makes people do strange things sometimes."

"Were you ever wounded?"

"Only once and by a piece of shrapnel that lodged in my right arm. I couldn't let a doctor see me, so I went off to treat myself. In a bombed out farmhouse, I cut my own flesh and pulled the shrapnel out. Then I poured alcohol over the wound and bandaged it. Why it didn't get infected, I'll never know. So many of the war's casualties came not from battle, but relatively minor wounds that went septic."

Edward could tell asking about the war seemed to have woken more painful memories for Mathilde, and he decided not to ask anymore. He still didn't have a complete grasp of the logic -if there was any-of "the war to end all wars". Edward had landed, injured and defenseless in this world when the war was in its last few years.

He'd spent much of that time sick and under a doctor's care. Either in a hospita or in a bed in his father's house. He'd been woken up late one night in November by bells ringing and people shouting outside. Hohenheim told him the bells rang to celebrate the Armistice, the end of the war and to go back to sleep.

Now the world was at peace and times were good economically. Even Germany was starting to emerge from it's post-war depression, but Edward couldn't shake the feeling certain forces were at work, forces which would lead to another war.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought Edward out of his ruminations. They belonged to Klaus who shoved the door open with his shoulder because his hands were occupied in pushing a small white card of delicate filigree metal work. A cart so laden with dishes it was a wonder it hadn't collapsed.

Each dish bore a silver cover to keep the heat in, but Edward could smell eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, biscuits and gravy. A shelf below held a silver coffeepot steam coming from it's spout,. Next to it was a glass pitcher of orange juice with spots of condensation on its surface. Vertical baskets on the side of the cart held plates, saucers, cups, and silverware.

"You expecting company?" Edward's tone was bemused because there was enough china to serve five people. Klaus just grinned in answer as he began to unload the cart onto a square wooden table already spread with a snowy white tablecloth.

"Actually, I am," Mathilde smirked before she raised her voice slightly. "Please come in, won't you?"

The sound of rustling cloth attracted Edward's attention back to the doorway, and an instant later, Noa's head popped into view. Edward's face reddened and he stammered, "N-Noa?"

The gypsy walked gracefully yet suspiciously into the room, her black eyes snapping sparks. Her nostrils flared especially wide when she came eye-to-eye with Mathilde. Noa came to a stop at the foot of the bed, put her hands on her hips and gave him a glare which could have flayed the flesh from his bones.

_She's jealous!_

A moment later, Alphonse echoed the sentiment out loud which earned him a twin of the hard look she'd just given Edward. Two spots of red appeared on his cheeks and he tried to cover his nervousness by jumping on the bed. "This is really comfortable, brother! We were worried when you didn't come home with the others. Shem told us all he knew was you'd 'met with an accident'!"

Al took a deep breath before he continued chattering away, "A farmer going into town gave us a lift and dropped us off at the Konig. None of the cleaning crew knew anything. We were directed from one person to another until this nasty bald man came up and threatened to throw us out."

"That would be Herr Schwartz," Klaus interrupted with a dry sardonic tone. "But he's like that to everyone."

Alphonse looked slightly askance at Klaus and promptly re-took control. "We explained who we were and he softened up-a bit-enough to tell us you had been taken to the Baron von Rentinburg's town house. We left the Konig and were walking into Cologne when this big black car stopped. Klaus was in the passenger seat and he offered us a ride. He's got quite a nice motor, and..."

"It actually belongs to Mathilde here," Klaus interrupted again and Alphonse frowned at his rudeness.

Klaus ignored the pointed look, "I recognized Edward's woman."

Alphonse's mouth formed a round "O" and Edward blushed scarlet. Even Noa's face and throat flushed her skin dark. "She is not 'my woman'", Edward stammered. "She is a good friend."

Edward mentally kicked himself the moment he said it. The words sounded trite and Noa looked a bit hurt.

"And she's a good cook, better than either of us!" Alphonse chimed in the awkward silence.

Edward yanked out one of the pillows behind his head and biffed him with it before retorting, "My cooking isn't that bad!"

Alphonse grabbed the pillow and hit Edward back and that seemed to break the icy atmosphere in the room. Klaus laughed, Mathilde chuckled, and she exchanged a knowing glance with Noa, whose lips curved in the ghost of a smile.

_Aren't men silly?_

After breakfast, which everyone ate at scattered points around the room -Mathilde and Noa at the table, Klaus at a desk, Edward on the bed with Alphonse next to him -Edward changed into his everyday clothes which he'd left in his locker at the Konig. Klaus had been driven over in Mathilde's 'nice motor' to fetch them and he was on the way back when he picked up Alphonse and Noa.

Mathilde stayed behind to dress and 'put on my mask' while the car was brought 'round again to give Edward, Alphonse, and Noa a ride home. Klause went along and once the car was moving, made a proposition to Edward.

"I have this friend who lost a leg in the war, and..." Klaus stopped at the look on Edward's face. "What?"

"If he wants a prosthesis like this, I'm afraid mine are experimental ones, Klaus."

The boy frowned briefly, as if confused, then burst out, "No, no, no Edward! That's not what I meant at all! Now, let me finish!"

Edward held his hands up in surrender and Klaus gave him a mock glare. "What I'm trying to say is, this friend was crippled in the war and he is having a very hard time finding steady work, even in Berlin. The city is full of ex-soldiers missing a limb or an eye. Perfectly good men who can't get a job because cripples are judged as worthless."

Klaus finished on a bitter note, and Edward nodded in understanding. After the Gate re-took his limbs and sent him back to London, he'd been mistaken for a victim of that night's bombing raid and taken to a hospital.

Hohenheim had found him there and Edward had been presented with a choice after he recovered: go with his father or be sent to an institution for the handicapped. In the end, Edward had chosen his father. As galling as that had been he probably would have died in that other place.

"Earth to Edward!" Klaus sang out gleefully, and Edward came back to his present surroundings with a start.

"Sorry, Klaus. I was just-remembering. What is your friend doing?"

Klaus's narrow chest swelled. "He's starting his own cafe and plans to staff it with only amputees. Not just ex-soldiers, but any one who lost body parts in the war."

"And what do I have to do with this?"

"I think you would fit in very well there, Edward. Mathilde thought so too, and she is bankrolling this project-plus several others-to help Germans pick themselves up by their bootstraps. My friend asked me to keep a lookout for prospective employees. In short, I am offering you a job. You don't have to decide right away, but I am returning to Berlin right after the Oktoberfest festival is over."

Edward's first thought was to say "no" and he opened his mouth. Then he snapped it shut. _BERLIN?!_ The headquarters of the Nazi party was there and many Nazis were members of the Thule Society. It would be utter _madness_ to enter the lion's den.

On the other hand, he, Al and Noa would be hiding in plain sight. Would the Nazis and the Society think to look right under their noses? Huskisson had assured him the bomb was well hidden, they didn't need to search anymore. Al needed a proper roof over his head, last winter had been brutally cold-but-city living would be difficult for Noa. Edward was aware everyone but the driver was looking at him, but his thoughts were whirling so fast he couldn't translate them into speech. He opened his mouth again and snapped it shut just as quickly.

Before he made any decision, he needed to discuss every angle with Al and Noa first. "You said I'd have a little time to think it over? It has to be a decision Al and Noa can live with."

"But of course, Edward," Yet Klaus was looking at Edward like he had sprouted another head. In German society, the oldest male made the decisions. As the younger brother, Alphonse was to do what he was told. Despite Edward's protests, Noa was considered 'his woman' and her obedience was expected.

The car reached the carnival grounds then and Edward turned to Klaus. "Two more weeks until the end of the Oktoberfest Karnival, then we pack up the rides and head for the carnival's winter quarters near Stuttgart. The last day of the carnival is November second.Will you come for my answer then?"

Klaus nodded,and then held out his hand. "This will be 'auf wiedersehn' for now, Edward. I will see you next Saturday at the Konig." He shook hands with Edward and Alphonse, but settled for a slight nod of his head to Noa. He had kicked over most of the traces, but he still stuck to some conventions.

Edward waved until the car was a speck on the road towards Cologne before he turned to his companions. "Don't say anything now, just think abou it. Come up with any pros and cons you can think of. We can discuss them tonight after supper."

Two heads nodded back at him, Noa looked a little confused. In her world, women usually weren't asked for their opinions. Edward spun on one heel and walked away towards higher ground near the river.

He did his best thinking on top of a hill.

A few hours later, Edward couldn't stay still anymore. He paced back and forth, his mind still whirling. Klaus's proposition was a good one but going to Berlin and being so close to the Nazis still bothered him. He stopped and stared blindly at the buildings of Cologne in the distance. Edward could recall the time he utterly loathed this world, wanting nothing more than to return home and hug his little brother to pieces.

When circumstances did lead him back to the alchemic world, he threw it all away to protect his home from further invasions. He wouldn't be granted another chance. This world would be the permanent home of him and Alphonse They would find that damn bomb and neutralize it-somehow. Then they would live the rest of their lives in peace here.

He would never see Amestris, Risembool, Winry, Granny Pinako, Den-not even Colonel Bastard-again. That knowledge hurt, but time would lessen the pain. If not exactly happy, they would be content.

That was one decision made. A little of the pressure on his soul eased.

Edward heard soft footsteps approaching from behind him and he swallowed hard before he made another choice. He eased the glove off his left hand, finger by finger, before stuffing the cloth into the right pocket of his coat. Then he held the bare hand out to his side, palm facing upwards.

And he waited.

After only a moment which seemed like an eternity a small and soft, but slightly callused hand slid into his. Fingers curled and clasped. He turned his head and smiled warmly before he pulled Noa closer and bent down to kiss her.

Then, hand in hand, they walked together down the hill towards Cologne.

They returned to the carnival grounds at dusk, Noa was re-adjusting her clothing and brushing leaves out of her hair when Edward's coat settled around her shoulders. She looked up in surprise to see the gentle smile which reached his golden eyes. "You looked cold."

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you arms all goosepimply?"

Noa shivered for real. She'd agreed with Edward and they'd made a decision together. But the enormity of it-not the chilly air-is what made her shiver.

Alphonse called "Brother!" and Edward murmured something she didn't quite catch before he walked away. The other women descended on Noa the minute he was out of earshot. All of them gave her sharp looks from bright eyes.

Because they knew instantly:

_"You laid with that ganji!"_

"Yes, I did."

_"Will you have the baby he put in you?"_

"Yes, I will."

_"What if he leaves you before it is born?"_

"He will stay."

_"He has wandered far from his home, he will wander again."_

"We will wander together then. Him and I, his brother, and our child. He is like a Gypsy that way."

_"He is a ganji. He can never be Roma. Your child will be a didicoy and both worlds will reject him."_

"NO! He loves me, and he will love the child too. I saw his love,shining in the darkness. Blood doesn't concern him, because he is different from the other _ganji_. You will see!"

Noa put her chin up and stared defiantly back at the other women, who put their hands on their hips and gave her pitying looks. Most of them weren't married-by either Roma or _ganji_ custom-but had borne several children. Who were they to disparage her newly conceived child as a _didicoy_, a half-breed?

Noa was only nineteen, and she was sure she knew-everything.

She'd seen flashes of things, some very frightening, in Edward's mind when he kissed her. Images of people and places flashed while they made love on a bed of fallen leaves in a patch of woods. Including an image of a pretty girl with blue eyes and long blonde hair, But Edward had cried out her name-Noa-when he clutched her hips and finished.

She had held his left arm while they walked back to the carnival and Edward's thoughts were mostly a grey mist only briefly interrupted by flashes of strange images. She didn't see the blonde girl again.

Noa whirled on one heel and walked swiftly away, straight-backed with wounded pride. She was sure Edward was hers. But she wasn't gong to give the other women the satisfaction of knowing their words had shaken her.

_He can never be Roma._

_Near Oxford,January 1926_

Edward slewed to a stop on the slippery estate road. He panted and looked around at the darkened park all about him.

_Where is Al?_

Soon after he went charging out the front door of Burnlae House, his first stop had been their agreed upon rendezvous-a summer house in a clearin- roughly half a mile from the main house. But the door was still locked. Edward walked all around and looked between the slats of the louvered sides. But all he could see were the white shapes of shrouded wicker furniture put away for the winter.

He called Al's name just in case he was hiding, either in there or in the crawl space underneath the floor boards. But there was no answer.

Edward retraced his steps to the main road through the estate where he found Rupert addressing a small assembly of estate workers.

"Alphonse could be anywhere on the grounds, he's terrified and likely cold and hungry as well. If you find him, give a blast on this," Rupert held up a silver whistle attached to a white cord. "Then head straight for the main house. Cook will have sandwiches and hot soup ready."

He handed round a cardboard box and each of the dozen or so men took a whistle. The box ended up in front of Edward. With a bemused smile, he took the final remaining whistle and blew gently into one end before he slipped it into a coat pocket.

"Right!" Rupert called for attention before unfolded a small map of the estate. "The best way to do this is to divide the estate into six quarters and search as thoroughly as we can before it gets too cold. Any preferences?"

One of the men held up his hand. Edward didn't recognize him, but he wasn't at all familiar with any of the outside servants. This man told Rupert he would take the wooded area to the south, and the question of assigning searchers took less time than Edward expected.

It wasn't long before he and Rupert were alone. "This will be our search area, Edward, from the road due west to the ha-ha."

Edward just nodded. He was sick with fear over Alphonse and could barely restrain himself.

An hour of intense searching later the pair came to the 'ha-ha', a broad sunken ditch designed to keep the Burnlae deer herd within the grounds of the estate and away from farmer's fields.

Even in daylight it was an ominous place. At night, it would be a nasty fall for the unwary. It was very dark under the trees and Rupert had lit the two lanterns he had brought half an hour ago, then he handed one to Edward.

They parted company at the edge of the ha-ha and walked along in opposite directions, lanterns held high to illuminate the bottom of the ditch. If Al had blundered over the side in his panic-stricken flight, he could have broken bones, maybe even been knocked unconscious by the impact of a fall. He would be helpless,and unable to call to the searchers. Edward quickly lost track of time while he closely scanned the ground, heart in his mouth, but he had come up empty so far.

A church bell rang in the village of Burnlae Halt and Edward counted five strokes. He stood straighter and massaged his aching back, gradually becoming aware the air had gotten quite cold. His breath puffed in the air, and his left hand was numb with the chill.

Edward spun slowly in a circle, and realized he was quite alone. It was very quiet except for the wind soughing high in the treetops. If there were any wild animals about, the noise had he'd made crashing about in the underbrush had probably scared them away. The darkness was pressing in on Edward's eyes and he called out, "Rupert?"

Only his own voice echoed.

And then he heard it.

A single note. Someone had blown his whistle.

Edward marked the direction and he began to walk towards it, slowly at first, then without conscious thought, he started to run. The lantern sputtered and went out, but Edward continued to run. Branches snagged his coat and lashed him across the face, once he tripped and fell hard after a tree root caught his foot.

The fall knocked the wind out of him and the lantern flew from his cold-numbed hand. Edward heard glass tinkle someplace, but no flames erupted because the lantern probably was out of fuel anyway. He lay there and panted for a few minutes before getting slowly to his feet.

He began to walk, then jog, and soon he was running again. Edward finally burst from the trees and raced across a small patch of lawn before he made the estate road again. A bit of snow which melted during the day had refrozen and Edward had to fight to stay on his feet. He finally careered to a stop and merely stood there, gasping for breath as his legs trembled from the exertion.

_Where is everyone?_ he wondered.

_Of course!_ he snapped his fingers, once the whistle sounded all the searchers would have assumed Al was found and returned to the main house for a bite of supper.

The whistle sounded a second time.

Just a single note again, but much closer and Edward knew where it was. He bolted to the opposite side of the road and ran towards the summer house.

He skidded to a stop outside the house a few minutes later. The door was still closed, but now he could see a faint, flickering glow coming from inside. _Was Al hurt, or sick?_ Edward looked around with night-accustomed eyes, but not even they could penetrate deep shadows under the trees. He tried to listen for any sound-the rustle of cloth, the scrape of a shoe, the crunch of a leaf or a twig-over his loud breathing.

Edward realized this could be a trap set by Mathun. But he had to know if Al was in there. Edward tried to move stealthily as he crossed the lawn ringing the summer house and walked up the steps. The knob turned easily in his hand this time, and the door opened quietly on well-oiled hinges.

Tension rushed out to be replaced by relief when he saw Rupert sitting on a wicker couch, it's white cover pulled back. Next to him and head cradled on his lap lay Alphonse. He was asleep, his sides rising and falling with a regular rhythm. Rupert's hand was on Al's left shoulder, as if comforting the frightened boy. The lantern Rupert had carried stood on the floor, its flickering light cast a warm glow over their features and made Rupert appear to move back and forth.

"Rupert?"

Ice suddenly re-formed in the pit of Edward's stomach, the feeling told him something was wrong. He moved closer and saw Rupert's eyes were closed.

"Rupert?"

Edward reached out and jostled his knee then jumped back when Rupert abruptly slumped sideways over Al.

_It's a trap!_

Everything happened at once. A hand dropped heavily onto Edward's left shoulder and a sharp pain like a bee sting blossomed on the right side of his neck. A sudden plunge into swirling darkness cut off his cry of surprise.

_Risembool, Eastern Amestris, July 1918_

Winry Rockbell jerked awake with a low-pitched cry. She'd had that dream again. Ed and Al were at the front door of her house, knocking on it and calling to her, asking to be let in. Like the last time, their cries suddenly became frantic, desperate pleas for help.

She would leap out of bed, grab her favorite wrench and run downstairs as fast as she could go. She would be _sprinting_ down the hallway, feet pounding and arms swinging. Her rasping breath sounded loud in her ears as she ran down a hall which seemed to have stretched out to be a million miles long.

Winry finally reached the stairs after the longest run of her life. The Elric brothers were pounding even harder on the door and screaming in terror.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Winry shouted as loud as she could, but still too softly.

The dream always ended the same way. She finally reached the door, undid the bolts as the panic on the other side reached a fever pitch-but all sound stopped the instant she turned the knob-Winry would still throw the door open with as much force as she could muster.

But they were gone. The front porch was empty, and there was no sign of Ed and Al in the moonlight-washed landscape. The only sound was an owl hooting as if laughing at her.

Then Winry woke up. She sat up in bed and panted as sweat ran down her face and dripped on the sheets. It stung her eyes and she grabbed a handful of the bed clothes to wipe her face. She flopped down on her back after a while then turned over on one side. She dug the fingers of one hand into a pillow and holding it close to her mouth, began to cry.

**Author's note #2:** Say hello to my beta, Jedimasterwithapen. She has labored hard and long to whip this chapter into shape. But it is going to take a while before I can snatch the pebble from the master's hand.


	32. Chapter 32

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, only the OCs I created for this story. I just like to play around in it's world and annoy the canon characters for awhile.

**Author's note:** No bashing of Christians is intended.99% of Christians are thoroughly delightful people who would be appalled by the tactics of Sister Janette and her cohorts. These "Christianists" are more in the Hageeist/Parsleyite/Phelpsian mode.

**Warning:** violence, blood, and bad language.

**Beta:** Took-baggins

Chapter 32: In which Alphonse shows resolve, and Edward gets some answers

Once the last of the sodium pentathol left his system, Alphonse had the sense Sister Janette was disappointed with him. She never came right out and said it directly, yet there was a certain tension behind her eyes and the set of her lips. Alphonse was afraid to ask, thought he dearly wanted to know what, or if she succeeded in wrenching the most closely guarded secrets from his mind.

As comfortable as it was, he was feeling distinctly restless in the cell he occupied. Without sunlight, a clock, or a calendar, he had nothing to mark the passage of time and was having trouble recalling just how long he had been there. Meals were his only clue as to the passage of time. Food was brought three times a day,simple fare like fruit for breakfast, soup (or what passed for it) at lunch, and a sandwich for dinner.

His jailors didn't bring dessert, but Sister Janette always managed tos lip him something extra - a handful of peanuts, a cup of rice pudding, or a piece of chocolate. Alphonse was grateful for the small kindnesses, but he never lost sight of the fact he was a prisoner. Alphonse hadn't liked his experinece as Greed's hostage, and the curtailment of his freedom galled him. He kept his emotions in balance by exercising daily - running in place, doing one hundred pushups and situps - and meditating.

Four years as a soul bound to a suit of armor gave him abundant opportunity to practice the latter skill. Alphonse would sit cross-legged on the floor, clear his mind, and find the center of his being. When he was in the other world with Brother, one of the more esoteric carnies once told him "Om" was the most perfect sound in the universe. He'd shown Alphonse a technique to 'open his chakra', and the boy recognized it as similar to one Teacher had taught them: Suppress all conscious thought, concentrate on breathing, and one could enter a "Zen-like" state.

Well, that was the theory, but Alphonse was haveing a hard time controlling the thoughts flitting like frightened birds inside his skull. It was just his luck the one day he finally succeeded was the same day Sister Janette entered to read to him from her Christian Holy Book.

Alphonse was dep inside himself, he imagined he was floating high above Londonium. He concentrated hard and tried to contact Brother. If he could manage a sort of rudimentary telepathy, maybe...

Suddenly, Alphonse felt his inner self shaking. His concentration was broken, and he began to fall at a terrific speed towards the River Thamar. He plunged into the freezing cold water and woke up, then blinked and sputtered because someone had just tossed a bucket of chilly water into his face. Then his head jerked back when a stinging slap hit his left cheek.

"Alphonse! Wake up!"

"Stop hitting me!" he yelped, his voice hitched up because his heart was still racing. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

Her eyes wide and face pale, Sister Janette knelt so she was at eye level with him. "Alphonse, what you were doing was very dangerous. Do you realize how much danger you put your immortal soul into?"

His response was to narrow his eyes. _Not that again!_ "You mean meditating?"

She nodded, "Yes, Alphonse. Meditating.

"But, " he was confused now. "When you pray to your God, isn't that a sort of meditating?"

"When we pray, Alphonse, God is in our hearts and our minds. He keeps us on the Path and safe from harm. If you don't do that, you leave yourself open for evil spirits who might wish harm to your soul."

Alphonse sighed. _So we're back to that again, are we?_ He felt Sister Janette was capable of original thought and rational conversation, but their talks invariably came back to _her_ religious beliefs. And she liberally quoted from the Holy Book, as if she were reciting a prepared speech. He couldn't understand how an otherwise normal human being could allow her life and thoughts to be controlled by a words written down thousands of years ago. A book supposedly written by an invisible deity. It defied all logic.

Sister Janette stood up and dusted off her skirt before she offered one small hand to him. "Come, Brother Alphonse. It is time for the daily reading."

He wasn't totally surprised when her sermon concerned the prophet Jesus expelling spirits from a young boy who foolishly attempted alchemy and become possessed. He knew she'd chosen it for just that reason and Alphonse shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair.

"Jesus came upon a village in the hinterlands and began to preach in the middle of the market. He saved many souls and his disciples gathered money and food which he distributed to the poor. He was resting later that day when a woman who was red eyed and weeping approached him.

'My son practices alchemy and been possessed by demons, please help him!"

So Jesus and his disciples accompanied the woman to her home, and they found a boy standing outside a small house, and he was trembling and crying.

'Brother is worse, mother! Now seven demons are inside him, and he refuses to talk to me!'

The mother broke down with fresh tears at the news. She knelt down upon the ground and sobbed. Even the disciples became afraid and Jesus told them to stay outside and comfort the mother and younger son while he went inside to confront the demons."

Janette paused and looked at Alphonse who merely raised one eyebrow. He didn't believe a word of it, but he had to admit whichever stories concerned alchemy piqued his interest.

"Alphonse, may I have some water, please?"

"Of course." He grabbed the metal dipper from the wooden bucket next to his chair and handed it over. She drank demurely, no stray drops rolled down her rounded chin, nor did any slurping noises emenate from her mouth. Janette gave the dipper back and ran one finger down the page. A quiet _ah!_ of satisfaction escaped her lips when she found her place in the book.

"Inside the house was a terrible scene. Blood pooled in the center of one room, it was splashed on the walls and it streaked the skin of a naked boy who's body was covered with black tattoos. He sat in the middle of chalk circle festooned with pagan runes. The walls and ceiling were scribed with more of these circles underneath the blood. A sort of fog writhed just above the floor and the room smelled of a fetid odor.

'All these things are abominations unto the Lord, thy God.' " Jesus scolded the boy."

"A deep voice came from inside the boy, a voice too deep to be his own. 'Silence, foolish mortal! Leave and do not return or I shall smite with the the sword of mine Mother's!' '"

_Mine Mother's?_ Alphonse wondered. The homunculi often referred to the evil woman who protected them as 'Mother'. She was Dante, the alchemy teacher of their teacher, Izumi Curtis. As well as the former lover of his father, Hohenheim.

"Jesus had been afraid, but the Lord sent his courage and he also felt anger. 'Your mother is no match for my Father, the Lord. Now state your names, you foul demons!' "

Janette abruptly stood up as she said this final final line. Her voice had risen, her eye shone and her cheeks were flushed. If she hadn't been acting before, she certainly was now. "And the demons obeyed Jesus and stated their names: Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Greed, Pride, Sloth, and Wrath.""

"And Jesus said, 'You are the seven Deadly Sins and you do not belong in this boy's body, so begone!'"

"The Sins replied, 'We shall not leave and you haven't the power to make us leave!' To show their power, the Sins forced the boy they possessed to leap up and run about the room while roaring like a wild beast. He frothed at the mouth and his eyes rollled in their sockets. Then the Sins made the boy bang his head upon the wall and rend his own flesh until he bled."

"Jesus grew angry at this abuse and he shouted for them to stop, but they would not heed thim. 'Then you give me no choice' he said and he clapped his hands together, knelt down and applied his palms to the dirt floor."

Al sat up and took notice. Jesus had performed alchemy!

"A glowing light enveloped the boy and he stopped abusing himself and his wounds healed. The Sins screamed inside the boy, but one by one, they were forced to leave. They came out of his orifices like filmy gray wraiths with round eyes, and open, howling mouths. The Sins flew around and arouind the room, wailing while Jesus shouted, 'BEGONE!' And they flew up through the roof of the house and depearted, their cries growing fainter until they were heard no more."

Sister Janette slid a ribbon bookmark into place and closed the Holy Book. Then she just sat still for a moment, her face glowing,and her eyes shining with fervor.

"See how Jesus freed the boy of his sins, Alphonse? If you just accept Him as your personal savior, he will cleanse you of your sins, including alchemy, the greatest sin of all!"

Alphonse did a double take. "Excuse me, but didn't Jesus just perform alchemy in that story?"

"Yes, Alphonse, he did. But only to free that poor boy from Sin."

Alphonse shook his head. "No, that doesn't make any sense if taken literally. I think the writer meant it as a metaphor because the mis-use of alchemy is what is wrong, not alchemy itself!"

He could get as excited as Sister Janette and he'd risen to his feet without realizing it. "The motto of the State Alchemists is 'be thou for the people', and Brother and I always did our best to live up to it!"

"You really believed all alchemists to be good, Alphonse?"

"Yes, Sister, at one time I did. Brother and I later found out there were some evil alchemists, but that is human nature. Plus, those people eventually came to a bad end. Yet, humans are basically good. Even if we occasionally do wrong, we can make up for it later."

"But what if you are mistaken, Alphonse? What is good works aren't enough to get your soul into Heaven? When you end up in Hell after you die, is that what you will tell Satan just before you are dropped into the Lake of Fire, to suffer for all eternity?"

Without even thinking, Alphonse blurted out, "Souls don't go to Heaven, they go to the Gate!"

"The Gate?"

"Uh-huh. The Gate of Truth," Alphonse nodded, as if for emphasis.

"And have you seen this Gate, Alphonse?"

He opened his mouth to say "yes", then abruptly clamped it shut again. _Maybe I've said too much_, he thought to himself. Only a few people knew he and Brother had attempted the ultimate sin of human transmutation.

Sister Janette's first instinct was to probe why Alphonse had seen the Gate, but he looked just obstinate enough to give her a hard time about it. And she knew someone special she could ask later. She decided to try a different tack. "Your alchemy sounds like a religion, Alphonse. Tell me, what is the first commandment of alchemy?"

"The first commandment?" Alphonse was briefly taken aback until he recalled the first lesson Teacher drilled into him and Brother.

**"All Is One, And One Is All!"**

"All is one, and one is all?"

"I am One, and the Universe is All."

"It sounds rather conceited, Alphonse."

"Not at all, Sister. The workings of the Universe - the cycle of birth and death are so large - well, we can't see them. But all of us are important parts of the Universe, no matter how small we are."

"But, where does God fit into this?"

"God?" Alphonse was confused for a moment, then his face brightened.

"Oh, you mean Truth!"

"No, Alphonse. If the Universe is All, does that include God?"

"Um..." Alphonse was confused again, alchemy discussions didn't normally tackle theology. "It could, but alchemy obeys certain laws, like Equivalent Exchange, or the Conservation of Mass, not deities."

"So, you worship these laws."

"No, Sister, we don't. When Brother and I were young, we thought Equivalent Exchange was the world's one and only Truth. But as we gained more knowledge and met other alchemists on our travels, we learned it's not a perfect law that fits all circumstances. But even if not perfect, these laws must be obeyed or a dangerous rebound could happen."

"But, Alphonse. What about love, courage, forgiveness, and loyalty?"

Alphonse frowned again because he sensed Sister Janette was trying to trap him. "Alchemy is a science, Sister. Science doesn't deal with human emotions, most must come from within a person, but some are taught. My mother taught me many things."

"That must have been very frightening for you, Alphonse."

"How do you mean?"

"To know there isn't anything waiting for you after death," Janette spoke in a calm, measured tone. This was her trump card and it usually was the speech that convinced people to open their hearts to Jesus. "Except oblivion, the empty cold of nothingness."

Alphonse saw the philosophical corner she was trying to paint him into, and he thought hard for a way out. Sister Janette saw her chance when he hesitated, and she pounced.

"But what is there was another way to go, Alphonse? If you just accept Jesus as your personal savior and put your trust in Him, then you are asssured of a place in Heaven after your death." She paused for a moment to let it sink in. "I feel such pleace, knowing God loves me and His plan for me is like a warm cloak on my shoulders. That is why I never feel the cold here, Alphonse. Because of the warmth of God's love."

A tiny voice screamed in Alphonse's brain. _No! No! This is all WRONG!_ He had to think faster.

"Come, Alphonse," Sister Janette was already sinking to her knees off her chair. She held out one hand in invitation. "Let's pray together for the Holy Spirit to enter your heart." Janette took one of his hands and pulled. He began sliding off hisc hair too. _Why not? It's so easy to go with the flow, to do what the nice lady wants._

His mind brought up an image of Brother kneeling at the corner of an array. Of his own hands clapping to summon alchemic reactions. He hesitated.

_No! No! NO!_

Alphonse stood up. He couldn't do it, couldn't pledge to worship an allegorial figure he didn't believe in. Alchemy was REAL, it was something he could feel and touch. Sister Janette would never understand how alchemy had shaped the boy he was, and the man he would become.

"NO, Sister. I can't - I WON'T convert." He gulped hard right after he said it because she looked so crushed. She hung her head and he saw tears plop onto the dirt floor of the cell. Alphonse heard her breath hitch oddly while she cried and a knife twisted in his heart. He hated to see women cry, to see other suffer. But the cynical side of himself muttered her tears were false, _crocodile tears_ to manipulate his emotions.

"Oh, Alphonse," she breathed. "I feel so sorry for you, for the pain you are about to endure."

Sister Janette rose up slowly, and as Alphonse suspected, her face was not awash in tears. She picked up her Holy Book and walked slowly to the door and knocked. A lock clicked without, the door opened and she passed through. It closed with a bang that made Alphonse jump. Something he couldn't describe had snapped and an instant later that feeling became a certainty when the light in his cell went out.

Alphonse blinked to re-adjust his eyes, he shuffled his feet nervously and then the door opened again to reveal three large silhouettes on the threshold. They entered the cell and Alphonse backed up in alarm, he fell over one of the chairs and crashed to the floor. He heard the sound of wood breaking as the other chair was knocked roughly away and then they were on him.

Edward awoke promptly when he alarm went off at eight a.m., his left hand shot from under the blankets and silenced the shrilling black box. He sat up and blinked owlishly, his bedroom was silent and he couldn't hear any sounds from outside. But his nose detected the welcome aroma of coffee, and he hoped it was Cymru Roast, because the fumes alone could bring the dead back to life.

He climbed out of bed, used the toilet and took a shower, but this time he remembered to use the Snarls No More conditioner. Mostly dressed, he entered the dining room while buttoning his shirt and made a beeline for the silver coffeepot on the table.

"Good morning, Colonel Elric!" Mrs. Ravensworth called from the kitchen where she was still cooking his breakfast. Edward mumbled 'good morning' back, but his attention was focused on pouring the liquid gold into a delicate china cup. After three days in the hospital, he was suffering the pangs of caffeine withdrawal, and he idly wondered if it was wise to drink coffee on an empty stomach. Edward held the cup in both hands and savored the heady scent before he tipped the cup back and took a sip.

Three days of bland hospital food must have dulled his senses because the caffeine hit his system like a thunderbolt. He hissed between his teeth and drummed a foot on the floor as the needles of his internal dials all clattered on _full power_. Edward Elric was more than ready to find and rescue his little brother.

Right at that moment, Mrs. Ravensworth bustled in with two covered plates and she set them down in front of him. "I'll be right back with the rest, Colonel Elric."

"The rest?" Edward raised one blond eyebrow.

"You will have a guest for breakfast," Mrs Ravensworth paused just as the doorbell rang. "Oh! There she is!"

_SHE?_

Edward listened to his housekeeper's footsteps pad away in her sensible shoes, then he heard the sound of the door opening before she exclaimed, "Good morning, Agent Dasher!"

Amelia trailed in Mrs. Ravensworth's wake to the dining room. She was dressed in yet another severely cut skirt suit, this one in navy blue, this cuffs and lapels faced with black velvet. The blouse underneath the jacket was canary yellow in a soft-looking material that lay in attractive folds over the swell of her breasts. For some strange reason, she seemed to have trouble looking straight at Edward, and she took a chair across the table from him.

"Good morning, Colonel Elric," her manner of speaking was formal and clipped, and Edward felt even that greeting was forced. He poured some coffee into the empty cup that magically appeared at his left elbow and pushed over the table towards her hands.

"Have some coffee, Agent Dasher," he added in a severe tone after she hesitated. "That's an order."

Amelia stared at the cup with such suspicion Edward extended the index finger of his automail hand to nudge the creamer (in a pink cow-shaped container with a revolting grin on its cartoony face) and a blue china bowl of sugar within her reach.

That was apparently just what she wanted for she picked up the creamer by its tail cleverely designed as a handle and poured a generous dollop into her coffee. After setting the creamer down, she promptly drowned four sugar lumps into the brew that had turned a pale beige color. But the Cymru Roast ate the additions and laughed because they didn't affect the caffeine level. Amelia's red eyes widened just a tad after she took her first sip. Edward grinned as Mrs. Ravensworth returned with twom ore covered plates that she set in front of Amelia.

Neither of the persons seated at the table moved to uncover their plates and the housekeeper stood with hands clasped over her round stomach, a worried look on her matronly face. "Agent Dasher, I really do hope you aren't one of those people who think coffee and cigarettes constitute a proper breakfast."

Amelia blushed and lifted one of the lids to uncover a steaming mass of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs. She gulped, but managed to say, "They smell delicious."

But Mrs. Ravensworth didn't look convinced until Amelia picked up her fork, speared some of the mass on the tines and took a bite. Hetty was an excellent cook and the hum of satisfaction Amelia emitted wasn't an act. Mollified, the housekeeper finally turned and left the room. Edward uncovered his own breakfast - also scrambled eggs - along with two perfectly browned waffles on the other plate. He slathered them with butter and drowned them with Acadian maple syrup.

"You gonna eat that?" he mumbled around the last mouthful of waffle ten minutes later. Amelia wasn't even halfway through, and Edward had already cleaned off his plates. He munched on a piece of multi-grain toast spread with strawberry jam and sipped more coffee. Like Hetty before her, Amelia was astounded at his appetite and she also wondered how such a slight man could pack all that food away without gaining an ounce. "Those eggs are going to be stone cold if you don't eat faster," Edward admonished. "So hurry and finish because we've got a lot of work to do today."

"Such as...?"

"Such as a return visit to the Ancient And Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists for starters. I finally realized last night why Sister Janette looked so familiar, so somebody has a lot of explaining to do." Edward's golden eyes glittered dangerously and Amelia briefly felt sorry for whomever was the target of his ire.

A different pair of eyes glared out from the slot in the door after Edward rung the bell, but he didn't give their owner a chance to tell him to go away. "Colonel Edward Elric. Let. me. in. NOW."

"Piss off!" came the slightly muffled, but very rude reply.

A vein pulsed in Edward's left temple before an evil grin twisted his lips and he clapped his hands together. He touched the door knob and tumblers inside clicked before it swung open. Edward barged right in with a bemused Amelia in his wake. _He's like a bull in a china shop._

"You dare...! the door keeper let the angry threat hang in the air before he lunged at Edward, a large truncheon in one massive fist poised to strike. Edward just caught it in both hands, there was a flash of blue light and the truncheon turned into a feather duster.

"You - you - philistine!" the man bleated and he tried again to strike Edward, but instead he went reeling back from the Colonel's left jab. He hit the slate floor hard and glared up at the pair while blood spurted from his broken nose.

"Don't give me anymore static or you'll be wearing that duster up your ass." Edward cracked the knuckles of his left hand and hoped the man would give him more static. He was spoiling for a fight after three days of enforced bed rest.

The sound of running footsteps approaching the entrance foyer were heard and the door keeper grinned. "Now you're for it, the final alchemists in New Britain are coming to sort you out!"

But he stopped grinning when the foreign alchemist not only failed to look frightened. He actually looked pleased when the doorway between the foyer and the receiving salon filled with people dressed in more of those ridiculous robes.

"Oh!" one of the newcomers exclaimed. "It's Colonel Elric! Welcome, Colonel Elric!"

"Save it," Edward grumbled with a slight sneer to his tone. "I want to talk to Maurice, is he here?"

"Now, see here, Colonel..." the man protested, babbling a little quickly because Edward was advancing upon him with a very scary glint in his eerie eyes. "You are a respected guest because of your rep - ouch!"

Edward was briefly annoyed he had to glare up at the other man, but he was pinned against a wall and looked properly terrified of the Fullmetal.

"I am right here, Colonel Elric. Please let go of Dawkins."

"Maurice, so glad to see you," Edward's voice was silky smooth menace while he pulled a photograph from an inside pocket of his coat. "I think this woman is related to you, what do you think?"

The photo of Sister Janette had an effect on Maurice, all right. His face paled several shades, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

Then he turned and bolted the way he had come, his resplendent robes billowing out behind him.

"Get back here!" Edward bellowed as he took off in pursuit, scattering startled Society members left and right. The chase began in the foyer, angled into the main receiving salon, throough the dining room and out into the main hallway. This was choked full of alchemy students going to their next classes.

Maurice was no longer the suave and self assured man Edward had met three days ago. He shouted "Get out of my way" while shoving children and other adults either aside or into Edward's path. Edward spun, dodged and where necessary leaped over fallen bodies. So intent was he on his quarry, he only dimly heard snatches of angry shouts or astonished cries. A few of the bolder ones attempted to grab his coat sleeves, but he just shrugged them off and kept running.

The chase went straight through the open doors of the library where Marice shoved a heavily laden book cart at him. It wobbled and fell over with a room-shaking crash, but Edward just leaped over it and landed on one of the long tables. He jumped from tabletop to tabletop and made up ground on Maurice, who was slowed by knots of students going about their business.

After six tables, Edward was close enough to leap on Maurice and they fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs, clothing and curse words that would make Second Lietenant Havoc blush.

Maurice was taller and heavier, but Edward was stronger and quicker. He ended up on top and grinned toothily at Maurice. "Let's talk siblings, shall we?"

But Maurice responded with such a flow of "language", even Edward was shocked.

"Gentlemen, please!" a voice in a penetrating sibilent whisper protested. "There are children present!"

The broke Edward's concentration just long enough for Marice to throw a knee into his crotch.

"Gack!" Edward rolled back and forth, hissing between his teeth after Maurice shoved him off and ran away. Library patrons stared openly at him, but he was in too much pain to care. He kept clutching at his throbbing bits while cursing under his breath.

The pain gradually bled away and Edward climbed shakily to his feet. He leaned on a table for a few more moments before taking a some stumbling steps. He still ached _down there_, but Edward thought he could manage it now. He could feel the hard eyes of head librarian Tom Dragonera on him as he passed the circulation desk.

They bored holes into the back of his neck and Edward was on the verge of snapping "WHAT!?" when the man spoke "Maurice went to the Great Hall" in a whisper that reached his ears alone. He half turned and and nodded in acknowledgement of the message and Tom nodded back, a tight-lipped smile on his lined face.

Nothing more needed to be said and Edward limped out of the library as fast as he couldn.

A bell signalling the start of the next class period rang softly as he re-entered the main hallway. Robed students ducked into open doorways which slammed shut behind them like gunshots. A small knot of adults-perhaps teachers-whispered amongst themselves and looked in the direction of the Great Hall. The robes of three of them were rumpled and dust-stained, and Edward guessed they'd been knocked down by Maurice.

The pain in his crotch was nearly gone, although he still walked a bit stiffly. He gave the group a curt nod and a tight-lipped smile, but didn't stop walking. He reached the richly carved bronze doors leading to the Great Hall and paused when about to push the handles down.

Angry voices-RAISED angry voices sounded from inside, through the narrow slit where the doors didn't quite meet. Edward pushed the handles down with more force than he needd, and he theatrically shoved the doors open.

The shouting stopped and the six people inside at the foot of a flight of stairs stared in confusion.

"Where is he?" Edward growled softly, the steel in his voice evident.

"Stay away from me, you barbarian!" a slightly panicked voice sounded from above. The Society members next to Edward pointed fingers upward.

An evil grin crawled its merry way across Edward's face and his eyes followed the pointing fingers. Maurice was leaning over the railing of the second level observation platform, but he yelped and jumped back when he met Edward's gaze.

"'Scuse me, pardon me,coming through." Edward pushed his way though the group and they parted quickly before him. He made the bottom step and raced up the stairs two at a time. He made it to the first platform in a twinkling, but he kept straight on to the second. Maurice saw him coming and he bolted for the stairs leading to the third level.

Edward's grin became wider. Just two more platforms to go and Maurice would be trapped. But he decided not to point that out to his quarry just yet. Maurice was gibbering at the knife-point of complete panic and Edward didn't want him to do something stupid.

Like jumping from this height.

Maurice was climbing the final flight of stairs and Edward was close behind when it happened; a gaggle of chatering women had started down from the top observation platform. Most of the group wore chic skirt suits and their glossy hair was cropped in fashionable bobs. They jabbered away in the melodic-souding Bourbon language and Edward guessed they were more amateur alchemists on a tour.

Directly behind the "hen party" was Clarissa, wearing plain robes of a deep emerald color. She paused after catching sight of Edward and her face seemed to light up from inside when she smiled at him. Plain her robes may have been, but they were daringly tailored to show off her narrow waist and large breasts.

Even her hair was styled more simply in a 'Bourbon twist' at the back of her head and Clarissa looked far more chic than at his first visit.

But joy was replaced by shock on her face when Maurice charged through the group of women, scattering them right and left to grab the banisters and hang on. One of the group, a petite blonde with dark blue eyes was knocked right off her feet. She uttered a piercing scream as her body flew into the air and without thinking, Edward stepped forward to grab her.

He spun around to absorb the residual force before setting her safely on her feet. The woman was shorter than Edward and he felt a brief surge of male pride when she looked up at him, her hands clasped in front of her chest, blue eyes wide and sparkling; full red lips parted slightly. She said something that sounded complimentary in a soft voice, and Edward was aware he was blushing.

He closed his eyes briefly and slightly bowed his head before murmuring "Excuse me" and dodging around her to continue his pursuit of Maurice.

The Bourbonais women were shouting in outrage, and even Clarissa joined in with an angry "Maurice! What do you think you are playing at?!" just as Edward's quarry reached the end of the final flight of stairs to the topmost observation platform.

Edward jumped to the handrail and blanced for a moment before he lept up to grab an exposed metal support bar, swinging his legs for momentum before he reached for the next bar. He climbed the three protective railings ringing the platform and vaulted over the top, and into the air.

Sounds of female admiration came from below, but Edward's full attention was on Maurice, a moving target straight in front of him. They hit the metal floor of the platform together with an almighty crash, Edward on top so the wind was knocked out of Maurice. But the bigger man still fought to get away from Edward who straddled him, above the waist this time.

"That's enough, Maurice!" he ordered in severe,clipped tones that indicated he wouldn't take any more nonsense.

Edward clapped his hands together before slamming them down on either side of Maurice. The floor began to melt upward and it "flowed" into three ribbons of metal that encircled Maurice's body just above the elbows, just above the knees and at his ankles. Edward closed his eyes, and then sighed and the alchemic reaction stopped, leaving Maurice pinned neatly.

"I want the truth, Maurice," Edward again pulled the photograph of Sister Janette from an inside pocket of his coat. "She's your sister, isn't she?"

//////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Yes, my sister Janette and I were _Pioneers_", Marcus said in a quiet voice, his head hanging low. He sat gingerly in the wooden chair at a scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen area in a sub-basement of the Society building. "We were just small children then and our parents told us we were going on a great adventure; a mission from God to convert the heathen alchemists."

Edward sat across from Maurice, raked him with his golden eyes, and reined in his impatience with effort. The history lesson was all well and good, but he wanted to know where his brother and the other kidnapped alchemists were being held,and what the Christians intended to do with them.

"When both of us were in our early teens, our parents were among a small group, carefully selected for their strong faith to go to Amestris. My father was especially on fire for the Lord, a great lion of Zion. He swore on the Holy Book to convert the Fuhrer, King Bradley, or die trying. They wrote to us every week, but their letters stopped coming after three months and not one of the group ever returned. We feared all of them had perished and our prophet told us to remember them as martyrs."

Edward was glad Maurice kept his gaze down towards the kitchen table and everyone's attention was on him. Otherwise, someone would have been sure to remark on the shock that flashed across his face.

He was remembering...

The last time he'd seen Winry's parents, Daniel and Sara Rockbell. He, Alphonse and their mother were at the Rockbell house to give them some cookies Trisha had baked, and to wish them a safe journey. They'd told Winry to be a good girl for them, then both turned and walked away towards Risembool station. Edward and Alphonse had stood on either side of Winry, waving and calling out "Goodbye!" until they were out of sight.

Daniel and Sara had gone on a mission to help people too. At least they'd come back, if only in pine coffins. Edward felt a momentary twinge of sympathy for Maurice before he remembered Alphonse, and his heart hardened again.

Janette had Alphonse. What was she doing to him?

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

**"GET UP!"**

Alphonse coughed and sputtered when the icy cold water splashed into his face. He pawed feebly at his eyes in an effort to clear them and then gasped when a boot slammed into his midsection. A brief, sharp flash of pain and a cracking sound told him another rib was cracked,perhaps broken.

In the next instatnt, a hand grabbed a handful of the front of Alphonse's shirt and hauled him upright.

Or, at least semi-upright.

"Lazy little bastard!" he was shoved backwards and landed so hard on the seat of a wooden chair, Alphonse couldn't help uttering a small squeak of pain. Every inch of his body was pummeled into a mass of bruises, cuts and scrapes. Several of a his ribs, a couple of toes, three fingers of his left hand and his nose were definately broken. The remaining ribs were either cracked or bruised, Alphonse couldn't quite decide. He just knew it hurt whenever he tried to take a normal-sized breath.

Alphonse had begun to slump forward in the chair when his hair was pulled so hard,the pain made his eyes water. His arms felt a rope encircling them, tying him firmly to the chair, because it was the only way to keep him upright. He jerked his face way when the heat of an unshielded light bulb burned the skin.

**"LOOK!"** the harsh voice ordered, and Alphonse tried to, but his left eye was swollen shut in a puffy mound. He could open his other eye, but only to a narrow slit, and it watered so copiously, he could distinguish only colored shapes.

He knew the man was holding the Christian Holy Book in front of him. His torturer had done this twice a day for the past few days,wanting Alphonse to kiss the book,confess his sins,repent - and convert. But he refused each time, and each time he was punished with a severe beating. Yet,no matter how much pain they put him through, Alphonse just couldn't do it. Believe an invisible deity had ordered the writing of a book that was the literal word of said god. A god who instructed his followers to torture and kill all non-believers.

This concept was utterly alien to his rational mind. Alphonse had been horrified by the level of religious animosity he and Brother had encountered in the machine world. Noa hd told him about the awful trials Gypsies had endured, the pogroms against Jews, the back and forth slaughter between Catholics and Proestants. In Alphonse's opinion, hurting or killing others based on who they worshipped was the very epitome of evil.

He couldn't help crying out loudly in pain when his face was slapped so hard his head jerked first to the left, and then the right from a second slap. Agony flared in his face, head, neck and shoulders, his broken nose began to bleed again and new splits appeared in his already swollen lips. The rope biting into his arms sent more dull messages as it chafed the skin of his arms raw.

Alphonse lost count of how many times he was slapped,long after his ears began rininging,he suppposed. He slumped against the ropes while warm liquid dripped down his face from his nose and mouth. It soaked into clothes already stiff with blood or plopped onto the dirt floor of the cell. His breath rasped as he took shallow gasps from between puffy lips because he couldn't breathe through the broken nose anymore.

His head jerked back and he cried out againfrom the white-hot agony when something hard and unyielding connected with that nose. The harsh voice thundered at him "Will you confess?"

"N-no."

"Will you repent?"

"No." Alphonse voice was a soft whisper,he barely moved his sore lips to keep healing scabs from tearing open. Yet he didn't hesitate to respond when the next question was asked.

"Will you convert?"

"NO!"

The book him his face with enough force to stun him and the pain mercifully ebbed away, replaced by a numbing blackness. The hurt was still there, just not setting his nerves on fire. But the relief was only momentary,more icy cold water splashed into his face. It got into the cuts on his cheeks and made them sting. Alphonse spat out water that had gotten into his mouth, it smelled and tasted foul as if the inquisitors had drawn it from a muddy ditch.

The harsh voiced man drabbed him by the front of his shirt, and putting his face right up to Alphonse's,snarled "Let's try this again. Will you confess your sins?"

////////////////////////////////////////

The torture continued almost all night until Alphonse, weak from hunger,blood loss,pain and the unrelenting blows finally passed out and couldn't be awakened a third time, not even by repeated exposure to cold water. Alphonse hung limply from the ropes binding him to the chair, his mind floating in a twilit half-dream of memories. He heard the voices of the inquisitors as if from far away. Some kind of decision was being made about him. If they were going to kill him, Alphonse wished they would do it now,because he couldn't take this anymore. Even death was preferable to the state his was in now.

His mind slipped deeper into oblivion and he didn't hear the harsh voiced man say, "Alphonse Phillipius Elric, you have been found guilty of the sin of alchemy and you will be burned at the stake just after dawn tomorrow. May God have mercy on your wretched soul."

Sunk in a deep sleep, Alphonse at last found peace.

/////////////////////////////////

Edward sat staring straight ahead. His body was still, but his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

Beside him, Ian steered his Vauxhall Super Six onto the Great Northern Road and accelerated to the maximum allowable speed limit. In the seat behind him, Agents Dasher and Steed, headphones on, coordinated the various units of the New British Secret Service in the rescue operation they were mounting

Operation Flamel, it was being called.

After he'd picked Edward and Amelia up at the headquarters of the Ancient and Noble Society of Amateur Alchemists, the blond had fidgeted endlessly while the car crept through heavy Londonium traffic, more than once declaring he could walk faster than this. Ian paid most of his attention to his driving, but he snuck occasional covert glances at Edward because he was now quiet, too quiet.

The car was going very fast now, but it was still too slow for Edward's liking. His mind was racing far ahead to an unnamed Christianist compund where his brother and other innocent alchemists were in great danger.

_Hang in there,Al. I'm coming for you!_

////////////////////////////////////////////////

When Ian, accompanied by agents Steed and Peel, arrived in response to Amelia's summons, the doors to the Society headquarters on Kitten Mews were wide open. Two beefy Londonium constables stood guard to keep the curious at bay, and in the entrance foyer, Ian found utter chaos. The doorman was hysterical at the thought of non-alchemists intruding on the sacred precincts of the Society while two women police constables tried to calm him down. In the background, more police constatbles were attempting to interview excited students and teachers, but everyone was talking at once.

Just past the entrance foyer, he met Detective Inspector Button who was waiting in order to show him the way to the Society kitchen area. He was glad of the guide for there was a maze of angled passageways and twisting staircases between the dining room and the sub-basement where the kitchen was located.

"How ever did they get the food to the table before it turned stone cold?"

With a tired little smile, Button tapped the wall next to one stairway. It sounded hollow and Ian raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "A bank of dumb waiters goes from the lowest sub-basement, all the way to the topmost floor of the house. You couldn't see them in the dining room because the doors are rather cleverly hidden."

The closer they came to the sub-basement, the louder were the noises from below. Ian's ears eventually seperated out screaming and shouting. He didn't recognize the screamers, but the shouter was definately Colonel Elric. Two more police constables stood guard at the door, both of them nervously rolling their eyes at the noise level coming from inside.

Just then, a second brace of constables come out the kitchen doorway, one supporting his partner who held a bloody handkerchief to his face. He was moaning in pain while the other said, "Buck up there, Folly. I'll have you upstairs in just a tic - "

He came to a sudden halt and came to attention at the sight of Button. Folly looked curiously at his partner, and then at the Detective Inspector. He did a double take before standing to attention too - or trying to.

"Stand down, lads. Now what's happened."

"That crazy Amestrian, sir, that's what 'appened! 'E busted Folly's nose when he tried to pull 'im off the Society poofter - sir!"

"It's OK, Folly old chap, you did your best. Colonel Bond and I will take over from here. Get along upstairs you two." Button gave Folly a consoling pat on the shoulder as the two constatbles went by, and then jerked his head towards the hubbub coming from the kitchen. "Little fellow's got quite a set of lungs on him, hasn't he?"

At Ian's nod of assent, Button continued. "Well, best we go in and prevent any more bloodshed."

Quite a sight met their eyes after they entered the room. A dark-haired man wearing ruby red robes lay flat on his back on a large wooden table, valiantly holding back the automail arm-said arm now alchemized into a wickedly sharp blade-away from his face. He was one of the people doing the screaming.

On top of him was Edward Elric, straining just as hard to stab the dark-haired man with said automail blade. He was clearly furious, his face was red, golden eyes blazed and he was shouting at the top of his lungs. More shouting came from Agent Dasher who had hold of his right arm and was trying to pull it away from the vicinity of the dark-haired man's jugular. On Elric's right was a handsome chestnut-haired woman in emerald green robes, she was tugging on Edward's shoulder, but not having as much success. She was screaming almost hysterically at Edward, who wasn't listening to her.

"All right, all right, all right, what's all this then?" Button strolled up to the table in the casual rolling manner of a constable on his beat who'd just come to break up a little neighborhood argy-bargy instead of an obvious attempt at murder. Button stood at one end of the table, legs slightly spread and hands behind his back, a benign look on his lined face, but his eyes were shrewdly taking it all in.

The noise stopped as if cut off by a knife, and even Elric stopped yelling and stared at the intruder.

"Oh, thank Flamel!" the dark-haired man cried. "This Amestrian barbarian is trying to kill me!"

"He's an ex-Christian and his sister is holding my little brother hostage. He's also still in contact with her and refuses to tell me where Alphonse is." Edward squirmed a little under Button's relentless gaze. "But I'm not going to kill him, just hurt him - a little."

"Now, now, Colonel Elric." Button held his hands up, palms out, in a placating gesture. "I understand you are upset, but if you let me take over, I'll get your brother's location out of this - gentleman -, what's your name,sir?"

"Maurice - Maurice Turner," gasped the dark-haired man. "Now you've saved my life, I'm quite pleased to meet you."

A hum of conversation re-started behind Ian and he looked over at a small knot of women speaking Bourbonais. He nodded and smiled at them, "Bonjour mesdames" and they 'bonjoured' back before they returned to muttering amongst themselves. But Ian was close enough to hear every word and he was fluent in Bourbonais. He doubted Colonel Elric understood the language, and it was probably a good thing he couldn't because he would have been mighty embarrassed by what the women were saying.

They were talking about Edward; "le petit colonel Amestriane" and their discussion ran the gamut from his long hair, to his golden eyes, his courage and finally, his temper. But one conversational thread would have made Edward blush brick red because it concerned speculations as to the size of his manhood.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

'"Colonel; sir?" Amelia paused until she was sure she had Ian's attention. "Please take the Lilyfield Cross exit in 20 kilometers, we'll rendezvous with the gyrocopter there."

"Right, thank you, Agent Dasher."

For the first time, Edward look over at Ian, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. "Gyrocopter?"

"It's a fairly recent invention, Edward. The gyrocopter is a flying machine that can travel much faster than the speediest car. Plus, it's capable of straight vertical flight, which means it can set down in small areas much better than an aeroplane can."

"Um." Edward had that _feeling_ again, like a caveman who'd wandered into a room full or rocket scientists. "I've never heard of gyrocopters, but then Amestris hasn't advanced beyond observation balloons."

Ian risked dividing his attention and he flicked his gaze over to Edward for a moment, but he couldn't detect any trace of dissembling in the younger man's open expression. Elric was serious. Technology-wise, Amestris was shockingly primitive due to its over-reliance on alchemy. But on the other hand, the countrys alchemists could do amazing things with this science.

Ian weighed the two in his mind and the scales balanced. If the peace held, the people of Amestris and New Britain could learn lessons from each other.

The car raced on up the Great Northern Road, Ian turned off it when he reached the Lilyfield Cross exit and after another ten minutes of driving, arrived at a flat patch of land surrounded by large metal pole buildings. "Lilyfield Cross Aerodrome". he said in reply to the raising of Edward's eyebrows. He jerked his head to indicate the gyrocopter. "Here's our ride, right on schedule."

Edward did a double take when he saw the gyrocopter. "We're going to fly in THAT?!"

Well, the machine didn't exactly inspire confidence in its airworthiness. The gyrocopter consisted of a space metal framework surrounding a small glass enclosed space for a pilot and two passengers. Abovve the cabin was a large two bladed rotor, behind it was a long tail with a smaller rotor in back. The whole machine was balanced upon a pair of narrow metal runners. All in all, it reminded Edward of an overgrown dragonfly. A fragile dragonfly.

Edward leaned agains the car and regarded the machine with increasing dismay. He wondered if he would also be prone to airsickness, just like he tended to be seasick. He jumped when Ian dropped a heavy hand on his left shoulder.

"Ready, Colonel Elric?"

Edward couldn't back out, this WAS a rescue mission after all! He strode forward firmly behind Agent Dasher, who to his surprise cimbed into the pilot's seat. He ducked his head before entering the passenger area and perched nervously on the edge of one of the seats.

"Please strap yourself in, Colonel Elric!" Amelia ordered. She had already fastened her's and was pulling a set of headphones on. She began to flip some switches on a black panel in front of her and green lights blinked on as Ian took his seat next to Edward and strapped himself in.

Edward followed Ian's lead. Or tried to. He pulled on a metal tongue sticking out of the gyrocopters back wall, but the straps were a complicated affair. One belt went over the lap and clicked into one slot, then two more came over each shoulder and fastened into two more slots which stuck up between his legs.

Amelia said crisply into a microphone attached to her headset,"Unit XI to tower, Unit XI to tower. Requesting permission to take off."

"Tower to Unit XI, permission granted." came a tinny reply from a small round speaker on the front panel.

"Copy that, tower." Amelia's voice was all business as she flicked two more switches. An electronic whine started above their heads, and it became louder and louder until Edward's ears rang. Rapidly moving shadows on the ground told him the rotors were the source of the noise. He turned when Ian tapped his left shoulder, the spymaster held out a pair of headphones to him and Edward didn't hesitate to slip them on. Ian jerked one thumb upwards and mouthed _Here we go!_ as the gyrocopter rose smoothly and slowly into the air.

Edward was just thinnking _This isn't so bad_ when the ground suddenly began to drop away at a shockingly fast rate. In a matter of seconds, the metal buildings of the aerodrome looked like toys far below the gyrocopter which banked in a way that made Edward rather nervous before it shot forward in a north westerly direction.

He held to the sides of his seat in a death-drip,although securely strapped in, Edward didn't feel very safe. Despite Ian's best efforts to point out intriguing landmarks out the cabin windows, he also kept his gaze straight ahead. Edward wasn't interestedto know just how how up they were or how fast they were travelling. Or even in how many hundreds of hours Amelia had spent flying this thing. Just knowing the gyrocopter was flying above the tree tops was bad enough. At least he wasn't air-sick, one of the few crumbs of comfort in this experience.

Plus, he was getting closer to Alphonse with every rotation of gyrocopter's blades.

_Hand in there Al, I'm coming!_

/////////////////////////////////////////////

Back at the headquarters of the ANSAA, Ian stopped the racket with just a hand on Edward's shoulder and a few calm words. He convinced Edward to get off Maurice and allow him to be handed over to Button. Meanwhile, he took Edward over to a corner of the kitchen and away from the other people there. He didn't speak again, but just listened to Edward pour out his ample frustration btween clenched teeth and tight lips.

The younger man seemed to deflate once he'd said his piece and he sagged tiredly against the wall. "He knows, Ian. The bastard KNOWS! He refused to tell me so I was gonna scare it out of him."

"Scare him to death is more like it!" Ian massaged his aching temples, now the noise level was lower, an incipient headache could make itself known. He wanted badly to rescue Alphonse too. Not because he liked the boy-he did-but because Alphonse's death would trigger an international incident. Alphonse Elric wasn't just any boy, he was the younger brother of the famed Fullmetal Alchemist, and one on a first name basis with Fuhrer Mustang too.

Plus, if he pulled out all the stops to rescue Alphonse, a grateful Edward would tell Ian some of his secrets. Such as, what was the incident they were talking about? What was the "machine world"? He heard a sort of high-pitched babbling coming from the other side of the room, Marine was pouring his own heart out to Button. He looked over once and scowled at Edward, but his face blanched white when Edward responded with a death glare of his own. Ian had the feeling Maurice wasn't the first person to find out what bad things would result from messing with the Elric brothers.

He had and was now well and truly terrified of Colonel Elric. After a few more minutes of talking, Maurice finally wound down and Button started his "good cop" routine of interrogation. He gave Maurice his best paternal smile and a pat on the back five minutes later before he handed Maurice over to a pair of massive constables.

Not until the trio were out of sight did he walk over to Ian and Edward. Detective Inspector Frank Button was not just an able interrogator, but also the best summarizer Edwrd had ever met. Amelia and some other constables came over for the lightning briefing and suddenly the agonizing wait for news of Alphonse was over.

Now they were speeding through the air at hundreds of kilometers an hour, but a black pit of fear opened in Edward's stomach when he saw the the distant wisp of dark smoke.

It became larger and larger until Edward imagine he could smell the sweet stench of burning human flesh. He was familiar with the scent, he'd smelled it before, on the streets of Lior and Central. The fear that Alphonse was down there churned inside Edward's mind like a living thing scratching to get out.

The gyrocopter flew over a final line of trees and there almost directly below them was the Christianist's "Burning Ground". Edward gulped heavily and shot a glance over at Ian. The spymaster's expression was unreadable, but the skin around his eyes crinkled when they narrowed in a pained look.

The ground itself was a large muddy plateau on top of alow hill. The outer circumfrance of the hill was lined with twelve poles, and as the gyrocopter descended, Edward could see the bottom third of each pole was ringed with vast piles of wood which gleamed wetlly. He guessed it was some kind of accelerant because three of the poles were reduced mostly to ash, only the very tops had escaped the full fury of the blaze.

Three more were burning fiercely and they were just pillars of flame. Another three more piles of wood had been ignited, but these flames were being snuffed out by white foam from red canisters wielded by men in long yellow coats. Edward saw two people struggling on each of those poles, which meant rescue had come too late for twelve of the kidnapped alchemists.

The gyrocopter had landed by that time and the whine was lowering in volme as the top rotors slowed. Amelia shut down the engine and Ian pulled off his headphones, then said something. But Edward didn't catch it and he didn't reply because his eyes were frantically scanning the faces of the people tied to those poles. He hadn't seen Alphonse yet! He pulled off his own headphones, opened the cabin door and peered anxiously out.

Several police constables raced by, carrying ladders to rescue the remaing hostages. Ian jumped out through the other cabin door and Edward followed, bent double to avoid the still moving rotor. He felt a little sick in the put of his stomach as his feet carried him closer to the remaining poles. Hostages were being untied and helped down the ladders. Once they reached the ground, wool blankets were thrown over their shoulders and they were gently guided to waiting ambulances.

On the side oppsite the unburnt poles, several Christianists-men in the standard drab coats and women wearing shapeless dresses- sat crosslegged in a large circle. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were guarded by other men and women dressed in tan uniforms and carrying automatic weapons.

"The Royal Anti-Terrorism Squad coordinated with the local constabulary to put a stop to this little bonfire." Ian explained, "This habit the Christianists have of burning other people alive simply for being alchemists, or witches or wizards makes the local plods quite cross. This particular batch of Christiansts will be sent to Londonium for questioning. The really bad apples will become long term 'guests' of the Queen, but the rest will be deported to Meso-America. May their god help them because Inca justice is quite brutal."

_It'll serve them right_, Edward said to himself. Most of the rescued alchemist kept their heads down, but he could see the bruises and cuts on their faces. He clenched his fists. Alphonse would have been abused like this too. A pretty blonde woman was weeping with loud, ragged sobs as two women police constables walked past with arms wrapped around her and murmured "There,there dearie, it's all over now,everything is all right."

"It's not all right!" the woman blurted out loudly. "They tortured and killed my friends! It was horrible, a living nightmare that never ended!" She went back to sobbing while fat tears sprang from her blue eyes and rolled down her cheeks. At first, Edward thought her lipstick was smearing, but then he realized he was really seeing blood coming from her mouth.

The woman groaned once before her knees buckled suddenly and she collapsed to the muddy ground. Ian ran forward to help the two WPCs. He came up with her cradled in his strong arms, turned slightly and laid her on a gurney two men in white coats wheeled up. Edward came abreast of Ian and watched with him as the gurney was loaded into an ambulance. The back doors slammed shut and it quickly roared off with siren wailing, its wheels churning up large gouts of mud.

"All of them were beaten."

This statement came from a tall man who stumbled along while supported by two brawny constables. His head had been hanging, but now he looked up before he added. "Even the women."

Edward's face paled so quickly, he thought he was going to faint and his sight blurred for an instant. Even the injured alchemist noticed his reaction and said with a bitter chuckle, "It seems that even strong men are upset by this."

"No, no. It's not that." Edward replied in a quiet voice. "It's just that you look almost exactly like my dad."

The other man's face lit up, well, as much as it could considering the bruises, cuts and half dried blood on it. His face was thinner than Hohenheim's, but he was much younger. He looked to be not much older than Edward. He wasn't wearing glasses, perhaps they'd been broken by the kidnappers. His hair was long and unbound, as well as tangled and greasy. On his chin was a small beard known as a "van Dyke" in the machine world and it hung lankly down. Once his many hurts were seen to, this man would probably wish to take a long,hot bath.

He leaned forward and squinted at Edward, this confirmed Edward's suspicion the man did wear glasses. "You have a queer accent,friend. Where are you from?"

"Amestris."

"Oh, of course!" If he hadn't need to hold on to the two constables for support, the man might have slapped his knee with astonishment. "Forgive my manners, my name is Phillipous Eldritch. You must be Edward Elric, Rudolfus told me about you, and - "

"And what?!"

"I've met your little brother, Alphonse. He's a brave young chap."

"You saw him?!" Edward's spirits rose quickly and fell just as fast at the sad look on the other man's face.

"No, not really,Edward. You see,we were kept blindfolded almost the entire time. Not until we needed to climb up to the poles were they taken off. So,I never saw him, but I spoke to him."

"Was he brought here with you?"

"I don't know. They forbade us to speak to one another and took him away the first day. I assume it was for an attempt at proselytizing. The young are more susceptable to what the Christianists call "love bombardment."

Edward contemplated the idea of his little brother converted, his hair cut short and dressed in drab, worn-out clothing like the other Christianist men. The thought made Edward's stomach clench again He closed his eyes and spoke to himself, _No, Al is stronger than that. He wouldn't just give up!_

"He wouldn't what, Edward?" Ian spoke in a clipped monotone and Edward blushed when he realized he'd actually spoken aloud.

"Al wouldn't convert. He's been through the same trials I've been through, so I think he's too strong to give in."

"Stronger men than Alphonse have converted to the Christianist faith, Mr. Elric. But if you are correct, then he would have been brought here and tied to a pole. If one of the Christianists took pity on him, a bag of gunpowder would be tied around his neck so it would explode and blow his head off before he burned to death."

The other man said it in a sad, resigned tone while he shook his head. "Poor lad, I didn't know him long, but I liked him almost immediately."

Edward looked over at the already burned poles where a team of people dressed in black clothing were climbing the half burned ones. They gently removed the charred bodies and placed them into black oilskin bags. One of the men uttered an oath when one body crumbled to ashes in his hands, and Edward recoiled as if he'd been slapped.

_NO! Not Al! That can't be Al!_

Twelve poles. Two alchemists tied to each poile. Twenty-four alchemists.

"Ian? How many alchemists in total were kidnapped?"

"Twenty-four, Ed - oh, damn and blast!"

Edward began to walk towards the charred poles, but his knees buckled before he'd taken more than a few steps. He landed hard on the muddy ground as a gust of wind kicked up and brought the sweetish smell of burnt human flesh to his nose. His eyes filled with tears as the reality of his loss hit home and Edward felt an overwhelming urge to just _howl_.

"Al." he whispered in a choked voice.

Ian put his hands on Edward's shoulders, he felt so helpless because consoling a grieving person hadn't been part of his training. He could hear sobbing behind him as Amelia started to cry.

Edward tossed his head back, but that scent followed him, it wouldn't leave him alone. It would be with him for the rest of his days. His eyes overflowed and the tears fell freely.

**"ALPHONSE!!"**


	33. Chapter 33

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in its world from time to time and annoy the canon characters.

**Summary:** Another flashback chapter. Edward and Alphonse were living on Burnlae Estate near Oxford after they left London in the fall of 1925. Alphonse went to the village school while Edward tutored the Earl of Burnlae's heir, Rupert to pass a crucial exam university entrance exam. Everything is going swimmingly until January 1926 when Edward receives a mysterious letter which turns out to be from Mathun. The Drachmans have caught up to the brothers and mean to "collect" them for some nefarious purpose. Alphonse flees into the woods of Burnlae Park when Mathun's gang make their move, requiring Edward, Rupert and some estate employees to form a searching party. Edward becomes seperated from Rupert, but he makes his way to the summer house - the rendezvous he and Alphonse agreed upon - but it was a cleverly laid trap and someone knocks Edward unconscious.

**Warning:** bad language, a rape scene and other examples of random violence. Proceed no further if you are easily upset by this.

**Beta:** Took-baggins

_Chapter 33__: _In which some back stories are revealed.

_somewhere in England, January 1926_

Alphonse came to first. He rose up to full consciousness like a swimmer came to the surface of a deep lake. His eyes fluttered and memory gradually returned, this caused him to awaken with a loud gasp.

"BROTHER!"

He blinked sleep out of his eyes before he sat up and rubbed at them with his knuckles.

_Where am I?_

Darkness pressed against his eyeballs and this forced Alphonse to sit still until they became accustomed. It wasn't completely black, light peeked around the edges of some blocked-up windows and underneath a door. Gradually, he began to distinguish shapes: crates and barrels pushed against a far wall, a stack of lumber to his right, a door to his left. A few feet away on a narrow bed was a human-shaped lump underneath an olive drab blanket.

"Brother? Are you awake yet?"

Alphonse moved his legs from underneath a matching blanket and the bed he sat upon creaked. This made him wrinkle his nose because the mattress gave off an extremely musty odor. A layer of dust on the concrete floor was marked with scattered footprints and a ball of ice formed in the pit of his stomach.

_We've been kidnapped!_

So much for the hope they've finally shaken off Mathun and the other Drachmans. Brother was so sure they were safe,and after a few months of looking over his shoulder, Alphonse had come to believe it too. Until that letter came it all seemed to have happened just an hour ago.

His legs were still unsteady and Alphonse had to shuffle over to the other bed to get a better look at his brother. Edward lay on his left side,his legs slightly drawn up. He breathed softly and regularly, his right arm lay over the edge of the bed while the fingers of the left hand were curled underneath his chin. Edward's face looked soft and child-like in sleep, especially with his unbound hair scattered across it. Alphonse briefly stroked the silky strands before he gently shook his brother's shoulder. But still under the sedative's influence, Edward didn't stir.

Alphonse next wandered around the room in search of a way to escape, but after banging his shins on hard objects several times, he shuffled around cautiously until he reached the windows. But they were securely boarded up from the outside and there wasn't any chance of forcing them loose. He investigated every pile of debris in the room, but there were no open doorways, nor even large holes hidden behind or beneath them. Their prison was well chosen.

He returned to the bed and sat down cross-legged on it, wincing at the noisy squeaks from the springs. A lump rose in his throat and his eyes prickled.

Alphonse didn't want to cry because he needed to think clearly if he and Brother had a chance to get out of this mess. But he allowed himself the luxury of a few tears slipping down his face to ease the pressure in his chest.

The nightmare about Noa's death a year ago should have been ample forewarning. His dreams had become darker and scarier in the past months.

Alphonse still recalled the events of that horrible day with crystal clarity.

Most prominent was the bone-chilling cold. It took his breath away when the wind pushed it through the layers of clothing he wore and Alphonse had felt he would never be warm again. This room was chilly, his breath came from his nostrils in thin white puffs but it was bearable in comparison with that January freeze near Stuttgart.

Second in prominence came the smells: the far off trail of wood smoke, the acrid reek of burning coal and the exotic notes of cooking odors from all over the camp. When they fled through the woods, he smelled the softness of dead leaves, the rankness of damp, sweaty wool, and the feral scents of fear and pain.

Alphonse could also smell Brother's anger, it was _primal_, like a snarling dog. It was mixed with a musky male fug of the brutal Thule soldiers, and the uncaring tang of cold metal.

The final scents were the acrid burning of cordite, overwhelmed by the coppery tang of blood. Mostly Noa's, but also Brother's from the blow to his head.

There were sounds also: dogs barking, men shouting, women screaming and small children crying. And gunfire, so much gunfire. Wrapped in its own bubble were the sounds they themselves made, the brittle crunch of snow, the pounding thud of their boots, loud breaths rasping from their mouths, then the snapping crack of a rifle and Noa's scream when the bullet struck her.

Nora screamed again when the soldiers dragged her from their hiding place; Alphonse was torn between his desire to protect her, and his concern for Brother who lay still and unresponsive on the churned-up mud of the creek bank. The situation became worse after they'd been pushed, pulled and carried back up into the woods. The Thule commander spat into Noa's face then slapped her with enough force the sound rang like another gunshot.

She'd lain on the ground moaning in pain before the commander approached her again while he pulled a knife from a sheath attached to his belt. He knelt down and metal flashed as he slit her skirts from top to bottom before he legs were roughly pushed apart. He supported his weight with one hand as the other worked the buckle of his belt.

He lay down on top of Noa, shifted his hips around and forced himself inside of her.

Alphonse wished he could have covered his ears, but his hands were bound behind his back, so he had no choice but to listen to the rape of Noa. To the sounds of her screams, the commander's grunts, the slap of flesh on flesh, the rhythmic crunch of dead leaves and rude sounds of encouragement from his troops.

After he "finished" the others took their turns violating and hitting Noa. The Thule commander beamed at them like a proud father before he turned and took in the blazing pain and anger on Alphonse's face. He grinned at the furious boy and asked "Would you like a turn too, Shambalan? She's not half bad for a Gypsy slut."

Alphonse responded with a searing glare from narrowed eyes and a defiant scream.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The man just laughed before he took one casual step forward and kicked him in the stomach. Alphonse pitched sideways and gasped for breath while sparks of pain danced in front of his eyes. Not since that day in East City when Fuhrer Bradley killed Martel just after she gasped out his secret had Alphonse felt so small and helpless.

At least Brother was still unconscious and didn't hear or see the degradation of the woman he loved, the woman who carried his child.

///////////////////////////////////////////////

He should have trusted his instincts because they never steered him wrong. So why hadn't he?

_Because,_ a small voice niggled in the darkest part of his soul, _you listened to Edward instead of yourself. Again!_

But Alphonse couldn't help it. He loved and trusted Edward. After they'd been maimed in that failed attempt to bring their mother back, Edward had promised to make things right. Brother was foolish, headstrong and full of pride, yet he always kept his promises.

_How's he gonna keep this promise to you now?_ sneered the voice. It was louder, like a tiny devil Alponse perched on his shoulder.

"Oh, shut up!" Alphonse snapped aloud and his stomach growled just then, as if to back up the sentiment. He wasn't surprised that he was hungry, his last meal had been lunch at the Burnlae village school. Vegetable soup, followed by 'toad in the hole' with steamed carrots, and for dessert, caramel trifle. His stomach growled again, more plaintively this time and ended with a drawn out gurgle.

Alphonse realized why he didn't heed the warnings of his nightmares. What would they have done? Run away? To where? There was a good chance Mathun was counting on them to panic and flee. Brother would have just told him he was imagining things and advise they sit tight. He had just two more months to go on his tutoring job and he wanted to see it through. The letter had shaken him up, but he felt Mathun and the others wouldn't try anything.

Brother had been wrong. Alphonse still remembered the paralyzing fear when the school bus door opened and Cavanaugh, followed by Conner stepped aboard. His throat constricted and he couldn't breathe except in short, frantic puffs. Cavanaugh was coming down the aisle towards him, a wide grin on his unremarkable face. Alphonse had gulped hard, he was shaking like a leaf and he wanted to run, but his feet felt glued to the floor.

Then Molly Simms, granddaughter of Cook and just as opinionated had stood up in her seat and icily informed the two men they had no business being on a school bus and they ought to 'sod off'. It was the opinion of both Alphonse and Lincoln that Molly could stand to be taken down a peg or two, but when Cavanaugh put out one large hand and shoved her back into her seat, everyone came to her defense. All the children began shouting at once and one of the older boys took up a fighting stance in the aisle and challenged Cavanaugh.

Alphonse didn't wait to find out how he fared, the noise had broken the hold fear had on him and he'd opened the window by his seat and then climbed out. Driven by blind panic he'd bolted down the drive, up an embankment and into Burnlae Park. He ran until his knees buckled and he tumbled to the ground in sheer exhuastion, and then he lay there a few minutes and struggled to draw air into aching lungs.

Eventually, he sat up and looked around, being not quite sure where he was. The woods were largely silent save wind soughing high up in the branches. No birds chirped in the dark winter afternoon and the only other sound was the distant bark of a dog. He was utterly lost in the woods of the park. Alphonse took a deep breath and held it for ten seconds before he exhaled.

He needed to think. Which direction was north? He looked up and noticed he could barely see the darkening sky. Alphonse recalled one of the stablemen tellling him moss grows only on the north sides of trees. It was worth a shot because star navigation was out of the question.

Alphonse started to walk and as he did so, kept an eye out for moss on tree trunks,but more than once he felt he was really walking in a circle. The trees eventually began to thin out and just in time because the sky had gone quite dark, Alphonse was shivering and his teeth were chattering despite his heavy wool coat. He peered into the darkness in hopes of seeing a lighted window, perhaps the cottage of an estate worker.

A twig snapped nearby and he froze before he looked about cautiously, but it was too dark for him to see very far under the trees. Alphonse took a few more tentative steps forward and suddenly he was out of the woods.

He was on a wide flat expanse of of winter browned grass partially covered by snow and it took him a few beats to realize he was on the south lawn of Burnlae House. This was the site of gracious outdoor parties in the summer, or so Lincoln had told him. Games were arranged to keep the children occupied while the men played cricket and the ladies played lawn tennis or croquet. Their elders sat in the summer house and talked until noonish when platoons of servants set up round tables and dressed them with white linen cloths and arranged chairs around.

The tables were then covered with all manner of delicious foods: grilled game hens, baked meat pies, steamed vegetables, watercress and cucumber salads, venison stew...

Alphonse's stomach growled loudly even then at the thought of food, and his mouth began to water. Even Brother's barely adequate cooking began to sound good and the thought reminded them of the secret hiding place they'd agreed upon. The summer house was only a few feet away to his left. It hulked there in the darkness, its graceful high Victorian lines seemed sinister in the dark, the gingerbread cut-outs just under the roof looked like eyes leering at him.

It was a very large structure, built some sixty years ago to accomodate up to one hundred people. A short flight of stairs led to a wrap-around veranda shielded by a wide roof overhang. Inside, there was one main room crowded with wicker furniture=chairs, chaise lounges and sofas - upholstered with overstuffed blue and white striped cushions. The ceiling was twelve feet high and supported by graceful wooden buttresses.

A spiral staircase along one curving side ascended to a smaller second story play area for the children. A metal ladder bolted to one wall allowed people to climb up to a tiny viewing platform, the sides were all glass and afforded magnificent views of the entire estate.

Alphonse and Lincoln explored the summer house not long after he and Brother had arrived and he could even see 'the dreaming spires' of Oxford thirty miles away.

Already fast friends, the two sat cross-legged on and floor and looked out the windows while Lincoln regaled him with stories of legendary lawn parties. The other boy explained the summer house's main purpose was to shelter all guests and their servants from surprise rain storms.

"One year, the first party after the war ended, the sky turned back and rain started peltin' down 'afore people could get to the summer house. All the ladies were soaked to the skin, so their dresses were plastered flat and we boys got quite an eyeful." Lincoln grinned widely and his brown eyes danced at the memory. "Mr. Hudson scolded us all afterwards but Simpkins said Hudson was just jealous because he wasn't there."

_Ah, Lincoln,my good friend_. Alphonse hoped neither Conner nor Cavanaugh had hurt him or the other children. Brother had told him a lot about 'alters', copies of people he'd known in the alchemic world. But Alphonse's spirits just soared that first day he'd first laid eyes on the alter of Fletcher Tringham. Sadly, his older brother - Russell's alter - had died in action during the Great War, so Lincoln was an orphan with no family.

He sighed again and started walking towards the summer house, his heart aching with the realization he'd likely never see Lincoln again. Up close, the summer houses louvered sides seemed to breathe in and out like a great animal. They were opened wide in nice weather to let warm breezes waft through the building, but in winter they were shut tight with boards placed on the inside to keep snow out.

A sudden gust of freezing wind blew through Alphonse's coat and made him shiver even more. His hands, feet and face were already numb with cold. He was amazed his nose hadn't fallen off, sheered away by the below zero chill.

A light was shining inside the summer house as if from a lantern andthe yellowish glow shifted as if someone moved in front of it. Alphonse's heart thudded in his ears, he hoped that someone was Brother as he approached the stairs. Then the door popped open and a woman looked out. Her face lit up when she saw him.

"Alphonse!"

_Tola!_

_Oh,no!_

He whirled to run and came face to face with Ryos. How had he walked up without making a sound? Ryos smiled, his too white teeth and his too blue eyes gleamed in the reflected moonlight. "Hello, little Amestrine!"

Alphonse drew breath to yell out in alarm, but Ryos clapped one hand over the boy's mouth and stopped the cry that burbled up from his throat. Something metal in Ryos's other hand shimmered briefly before he touched it to Alphonse's neck.

The boy stiffened at the sudden pain, like an electrical shock before he went limp and the light vanished.

///////////////////////////////

The room was cold, the light was cold and Alphonse's heart was cold, like a black hole tunneled through the middle of it. Sounds of movement came from behind him and he returned to the empty bed. He sat down on the edge and rocked back and forth while he waited for Brother to wake up.

////////////////

A rythmic creaking noise was the first sound Edward was aware of. He was confused and groggy at first, until he remembered his last moments of consciousness, then he was alert instantly. Edward listened hard, the creaking had briefly stopped when he shifted on the bed, and then re-commenced.

Edward rolled over cautiously. Alphonse was rocking back and forth on another bed a few feet away. He had a strange look on his face, and Edward had seen that expression before. When he'd decided to return to this world, and also when they were briefly prisoners of the Thule Society. Edward knew that look mirrored the stress Alphonse was under and he didn't like it.

He rolled himself to a sitting position, put his feet on the floor and tried to stand up. Too soon. The room began to spin around and Edward was forced to sit back down hard. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly until his heart rate slowed and he dared to open his eyes again.

The walls stayed put this time and Edward was able to rise to his feet, although his knees trembled and threatened to buckle. He didn't waste time in walking the few steps over to Alphonse and plopping down heavily next to him on the mattress.

"Al."

The boy kept rocking.

"Al." Edward said again, but Alphonse didn't stop until Edward laid an automail hand on his shoulder. "Al."

The boy's eyes were distant and the cold light shining from them made Edward shiver. He wound his arms around Alphonse and tried to draw him closer. The boy resisted for a moment, until Edward murmured "I'm sorry, little brother."

Only then did Alphonse relax. He wrapped his own arms around Edward and his fingers dug desperately into the fabric of his brown coat.

"I've failed you, please forgive me."

Alphonse dropped his face onto Edward's chest and began to cry. Softly at first, but eventually his sobs were strong enough to make both of them shudder at each convulsion. Edward moved his hands so his left rested on the top of Alphonse's head, and the right hand on his back.

He didn't hold quite as tightly, just enough for Alphonse to feel his touch and take comfort. The force of his little brother's tears made him sway back and forth gently.

Edward said nothing more. He didn't have to.

///////////////////////////////////////////////

When the door opened half an hour later, and Tola walked in with a covered tray, the Elric brothers sat cross-legged on the floor, their backs to her. They used one blanket to shelter their posteriors from the cold while the other blanket was wrapped around their shoulders. Alphonse had dozed off after his crying jag his head pillowed on Edward's lap, but he'd woken up when the locks rattled.

He sniffed quietly, once or twice when Tola addressed them. "Hello, are you two hungry?" Alphonse jerked slightly at the sound of her voice, but he didn't move any further.

"Come, boys, this is some lovely lamb stew. We know you are hungry, so please come and eat while its holt. I promise you it is not drugged."

It was the wrong thing to say to Edward. His back stiffened with disapproval while anger boiled in his soul. His heart pounded as the anger poured into it and it effervesced in his veins like baking soda in hot water. They carried the anger throughout his body to the ends of each finger and toe. The Drachmans had hurt and upset his beloved brother and that was unforgiveable.

He stole a glance down at Alphonse whose brown eyes were also narrowed, the anger radiating off his face like heat shimmers.

Edward's heart skipped a few beats when another voice spoke up. "Stop being so childish, you two. It is more important to eat and keep up your strength than take it out on Tola."

_Mathun!_

Edward's heart lurched again and he looked fully at Alphonse who gave him a tight smile in reply. They turned as one and fixed Mathun with such intense glares the balding man actually took a step back. But his polite mask never shifted and Edward ground his teeth with frustration. Gold briefly locked with blue in a duel of 'thousand yard stares' before giving way.

"Fine."

Edward despised Mathun, but that didn't change certain other facts. He and Alphonse would cooperate - for now.

//////////////////////

In the end, they ddn't have to balance plates on their knees. Conner carried in a scarred wooden table and two equally disreputable wooden chairs. Wanting to be helpful, Tola set the covered tray on the pitted surface and uncovered it before she placed two white china bowls and two old metal spoons in front of each chair. She turned a bright smile on the pair before she left the room with a skip in her step, like a young girl.

She probably didn't mean to insult them, but Edward's stomach flopped and he suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. He looked over at Alphonse who'd stuck his tongue out and mouthed _bleh!_ in silent reply.

///////////////////

The very air vibrated with hostility and Edward reflected it wasn't good for the digestion, a tiny joke that made him smile bitterly. Ryos stood by the closed and locked door and watched them eat because he was to collect the bowls and utensils. Mathun was apparently afraid the brothers would use them as weapons, or methods of escape.

If alchemy worked in this world, Edward would have happily done so and Ryos would be the first person he attacked. His death would be slow and painful before he would turn on the other Drachmans. Edward had begun sould searching the day after Scar killed Nina Tucker and this only intensified after he and Winry barely escaped Barry The Chopper. He was much too sensitive to death and the thought of becoming a 'human weapon' for the military disgusted him.

That evening he'd killed Greed, he'd cried his eyes out and then staggered into the kitchen where he'd thrown up into the large double basined sink. Then he slumped into a wooden chair and stared at his hands for the longest time. When he finally moved, it was slowly, like an old man with advanced arthritis. He'd washed his mess down the drain before rinsing his mouth clean of half-dried vomitus. Drabrisian water had a high iron content, so it smelled and tasted sulphurous, it probably had to be filtered before it was fit to cook with, and drinking it was out of the question. The odor reminded Edward of the hell he was already in.

After he re-emerged into the foyer, he'd looked over at the viscous red puddle of goo that used to be Greed, plus the pile of bones on the table, then shivered and fought the urge to vomit again. He imagined he heard footsteps echoing upstairs in the empty mansion, Edward didn't beleive in ghosts, but he hightailed it out of there and returned to Dublith. Edward went back to Dante's mansion only once more, and then in broad daylight with Izumi.

In the years since then, he still disliked death, although he'd gotten used to the inevitability of death and the occasional necessity of dealing it out himself.

//////////////////

Alphonse's first impulse was to toss his bowl of stew into Mathun's face, but such lofty intentions didn't sound so noble when his stomach was growling like an angry lion. He was extremely hungry by now and would have eaten anything that was offered.

The stew was hot and so full of chunks of lamb, carrots and potatoes it was almost more like a casserole than a stew. A few small chunks of bread were also on the tray and Alphonse used them to sop up the last bits of the thick and tasty gravy. He assumed Tola had made the stew; Conner and Cavanaugh were just "muscle", they probably didn't even know how to boil water. Mathun seemed too cerebral to know how to cook, and Ryos wouldn't dirty his pretty hands with pots and pans.

He snuck a glance over at Edward who was busy scraping out his bowl and Alphonse knew at once Brother had come to the same conclusions. Sustaining anger was about impossible on an empty stomach. They would eat, rest and watch for a chance to escape.

///////////////////

On the other side of the door, Ryos guarded, Mathun went over his plans for the exchange once more. "The written agreement is these 'Nazis' will hand over the uranium bomb in exchange for the two Amestrines."

"The fools deserve what fate has in store for them!" Conner chortled and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. He despised the Nazis as more weak 'machine worlders' he would happily kill and bathe himself in blood to his beetly eyebrows for the glory of Drachma.

"Yes, Conner." Mathun slowly winked his pale blue eyes like a snake. "We shall double cross them just as they likely plan to double cross us." He paused for a drink from a glass of water before he continued. "We'll be at the rendezvous point - an abandoned castle on an unnamed Scottish island - twelve hours earlier than we said. This will give us ample time to assess the area and choose the most suitable positions."

Bruce Cavanaugh leaned against a wall nearby, arms folded and expression unreadable. To say he was troubled by all the thirst for killing others was an understatement. He'd been just a petty thief - and not very successful - when he'd hooked up with this lot.

Or rather, offered something he couldn't refuse. He'd broken into a rented house in the Chelsea area of London and he was noisily riffling through a set of drawers when Conner grabbed him. The main reason Cavanaugh wasn't very good at housebreaking because he couldn't stay quiet. Now this whacking great brute was about to put a stop to his misbegotten career - permanently.

Cavanaugh was trying to accept his impending death with dignity and make his peace with God when a thin, balding blue-eyed bloke stopped the execution with one gentle word. Then he was thrown into a chair and given a choice: join or die. Cavanaugh clutched at it like a drowning man offered a rope from a lifeboat.

The fellow introduced himself as Mathun and said he was involved in the import/export business. His partners were Tola and Ryos, while Conner was head of security. The latter man had no staff, but then, he didn't need any.

Mathun paid Cavanaugh well, and while he had his doublts about the legality of Mathun's 'business, he kept them to himself. He was making good money and keeping his nose clean, no more house breaking for him.

Everything was going swimmingly until that day in the Bull & Crown when that small blond man with yellow eyes walked in and sat down at a nearby table. Tola drew a long, shuddering breath and Ryo's eyes widened at the sight of him. Cavanaugh admired the speed at which Mathun changed mental gears. They'd chosen to stop at this pub for a few pints just by chance, but within ten minutes after the stranger arrived, Mathun had engaged with Tola and Ryos in a strange conversation.

The stranger's reaction to what they said are what made Mathun decide to kidnap him. His company owned an abandoned hotel due to be gutted and renovated; it was empty right now and perfect for their needs. Tola gave him one of her rings and to Cavanaugh's surprise, Mathun opened its cleverly hinged top before he took a small vial of powder from an inside coat pocket, uncorked it and shook a modest amount in to the cavity.

He re-closed it while he gave Ryos orders to distract the man. In a few minutes, he and Conner swooped in to grab the drugged and reeling stranger and they hauled him outside and into their car. Even when plotted out this quickly, Mathun's plans always went like clockwork.

Except that one time, when the 'Amestrine' attempted to escape. Cavanaugh had lagged behind the others while he finished smoking a cigarette in the courtyard of the old hotel, he entered the stairwell just in time to see Ryos and the stranger fighting on the landing. Cavanuagh had felt a small burst of admiration for the blond man's speed and skill while his admittedly slower brain tried to make a plan on the fly.

Unwilling to risk injury at his hands, Cavanaugh melted into the shadows and waited until the smaller man reached the doorway, only then did he step foward to grab his head and slam it hard into the metal doorframe. Both he and Conner were sweaty and out of sorts by the time Mathun administered a second dose of the sodium pentathol, and at the time he still couldn't understand just what was so important about this young man. But he soon found out.

Mathun questioned the stranger in an expert manner, like he'd had years of experience in interrogation of prisoners. The answers he got stitched together an amazing story: a world where alchemy was not only possible but commonplace, a Gate and Portals, a plot hatched in this 'machine' world to invade the alchemic one, Nazis, jet planes, capture and escape, an uranium bomb.

During supper that evening, Mathun was excited, his face and eyes alive with light. This 'uranium bomb' was the unique weapon they'd searched for. They would contact this 'Thule Society' and offer them the two Amestrines in exchange for this bomb. But they wouldn't go through with the trade: all the Nazis would be taken prisoner and their souls used to pay the toll for opening a portal back to their world. They would have two talented alchemists to do their dirty work, and Mathun hoped to keep the brothers alive as prisoners.

"Amestris is far ahead of us in alchemic knowledge and my interrogation techniques will make the Elric brothers spill all of it. Unfortunately, there won't be much left of their minds left by the time I've wrung every last drop out of them, but I'll see to it their deaths are free of pain. Then I will ask the Triumvirate to grant them state funerals for their contributions to the glory of Drachma."

Tola made a small, unhappy sound in the back of her throat when she heard that. Edward - and the recently kidnapped Alphonse - were half-brothers to her beloved Rudolfus. "Please don't harm them, Mathun, I beg of you! They are trapped in this world just as much as we are. Just like us, they want to go home too!"

Mathun wasn't an unkind man; he briefly thought of his unstable older brother, Bersan who was far more savage towards Drachma's foes, yet he was also loyal to his country. "What do you propose, Tola? That we just let them go their own way once we've returned to the alchemic world? You know what the Triumvirate will say to that, don't you? To let this chance slip through our fingers because you were soft-hearted will be seen as high treason!"

"We could just keep our mouths shut about it, and trust they won't go running to their Fuhrer. But that leaves Conner..." Ryos didn't speak often, but his words had the weight of much thought behind them. He pointed one long finger at the enforcer. "He will not let such a betrayal of Drahma stand, which means you will have to kill him to ensure his silence. Are you prepared to do that, Tola?"

Tola's face turned white. She'd only come on this mission because the Triumvirate wanted to keep Rudolfus cooperative. Otherwise, she didn't really care a fig about what the Triumvirate wanted. Conner grinned at her, an action which made his unpleasant face look even more frightening because he did it so rarely. Her eyes were large and dark in a mask which amazingly blanched another shade.

"Strike well, Tola of Drachma, and your secret will be safe. Be aware, however, that I am very hard to kill. Not even Bersan of Drachma could perform the deed, although he tried his best and came closer than anyone before him."

She looked back and forth between everyone's faces, as if for reinforcement. Mathun deliberately kept his face blank, Ryos smiled genially, although he had no intention of going against Conner. Cavanaugh simply shook his head because he knew taking on Conner was certain suicide. He'd been in that man's hands once before and didn't want to relive the experience. Tola's face reddened, and then her eyes filed with tears. She made another of those small unhappy noises before she lept up from the table and sent her chair flying backwards, its feet making a harsh screeching noise on the old wooden floor.

Tola stood there, swaying for a moment before she burst into loud sobs and fled from the room. One of the bedroom doors ringing the dining room slammed with enough force to make the overhead lamp hanging over the table shiver. Wails could be heard coming from the other side of the door and the four men finished their meal without speaking another word.

But the next morning, Mathun's plans to move the Amestrine and question him further to discover the bombs location went out the window when the brothers escaped into the streets of London. Cavanaugh was sure Mathun would have to abandon all his plans, but the man didn't seem at all concerned. He scribbled a short note, and enclosed it, along with Edward's flat key and identity card in an envelope and dropped them into a post box during their unsuccessful search for the pair.

"We will collect them when we are ready." Cavanaugh raised one brown eyebrow, but he didn't question Mathun's judgement. He drove back to their lodgings, his back aching from the effort of helping Ryos manhandle the unconscious Conner into the back seat of the car. That evenings meal was much quieter, Tola finished her dinner but refused to look at any of them, yet Mathun was still upbeat. His plans would need to be adjusted, but they would still have a positive outcome.

The next morning, after Conner had regained his senses, they packed up and drove to Plymouth where tickets were purchased and they took the cross channel ferry to Calais, and then a train to Berlin.

Berlin was a vibrant city, a city of contrasts where brightly lit nightclubs packed each night with "bright young things" were just around the corner from shabby neighborhoods worn to nubs by grinding poverty. Compared to Berlin, London was as stodgy and unappetizing as a week-old spongecake dotted with flyspecks.

Mathun took Ryos and Conner with him to meetings with the Nazi hierarchy at their headquarters while it was left to Cavanaugh to entertain Tola. He squired her around to the movies, to afternoon cabarets and to the clothing shops. Mathun made sure he had plenty of money and gave him a huge wodge of English pounds, French francs, or even Amerian dollars each morning. German marks had been made almost useless during the early part of the decade by wave after wave of inflation caused by crippling war reperations. The new Reichsmarks were gaining in value, but foreign currency was still more desireable.

The activities were diverting and Tola seemed happy on the outside because she chattered almost constantly about them to a bemused Ryos each night. But when she would finally fall silent, Cavanaugh could see the shadows of fear and uncertainty behind her eyes.

Mathun always seem to have plenty of 'the ready' at hand, Cavanaugh didn't know where it all came from and he had enough sense not to ask. Conner had been in a blue funk ever since he'd come to and he was in an even uglier mood lately. It was Cavanaugh's suspicion that Mathun had let slip not-so-subtle hints that needle contained sodium pentathol and he'd interrogated Conner while he was under. Without even breaking a sweat, Mathun kept control over his subordinates.

The negotiations wrapped up in just over a week, and Mathun seemed happy with the results. He sketched out the agreement after they'd arrived back in London, but the only sticking point was the Nazis didn't have the uranium bomb - yet.

"But they assured me a person who knew its location had been found and they soon planned to bring him in 'for an interview'. Translation: This person didn't want to talk to them and he was on the run.

Which led directly to their own conundrum: the Elric brothers had disappeared from London.

By now, Cavanaugh knew Mathun wouldn't be concerned, he would have a plan to retrieve the information he needed.

He sent Ryos, who could dazzle marble statues with his lethal charm to interview Edward's former landlady, Mrs. Doyle. The younger man came strolling in just after sunset, but he didn't divulge his results immediately. Ryos first went to his room to "freshen up" and then he ambled into the kitchen to help Tola prepare supper.

Not until the dessert course was cleared away and everyone was served from a big silver coffeepot that sat sentinel in the center of the dining room table did Ryos speak. But first, he took a cigarette from an engraved gold tone case offered by Mathun and lit it with a matching lighter. Ryos leaned back in the old wooden chair he occupied and took a slow drag that immolated a quarter of the cigarette in one puff before he blew a smoke ring and watched it lazily drift towards the ceiling. He watched it dissipate in the general blue haze just below the ceiling - all the men but Conner smoked like fiends - carelessly flipped a shock of black hair out of his eyes and smiled in an unfocussed way for a moment.

Then the smile vanished and he brought the chair legs crashing to the floor with enough force to make their downstairs neighbor bang on his celing and shout, "Keep it to a dull roar, mate!"

Ryos ignored him and growled savagely, sparks of anger flashing in his blue eyes.

"The little bastard lied to her, damn his worthless hide!"

Elric had spun quite a tale about his new job posting to Mrs. Doyle, but then he'd had much practice in lying during his four years as a State Alchemist, and the woman spilled it all to Ryos over a cup of tea sweetened " 'wi a wee dram of old Ireland." Ryos viciously mocked her accent because alcohol in the morning tended to give him a headache and all that work for second hand untruths had put him in a foul mood.

But he was a pro and hid the pounding in his skull behind a smooth as silk veneer. He'd spoken "MP" to Mrs. Doyle and got the whole story of Elric's supposed whereabouts embroidered with side trips into Ireland's bloody past of long-ago injustices, familiy tragedies, and religious bigotry. She was a war widow looking for a new man, plus she had various and sundry unmarried nieces on the hunt for husbands, and "aren't you a grand-looking fellow" who any young woman would be lucky to have?

Mrs. Doyle was very persistant and Ryos wondered how Edward had borne her loaded hints about sex, marriage, family, her poor dear dpearted husband (Ryos secretly envied him), and innumerable other trivial matters that made the cabbage roses painted on the wall paper throb in time with the pain behind his eyes.

The Elric brothers had left almost a fortnight ago to catch a train to Liverpool. From there, they would board a ferry bound for Dublin and then travel to some godforsaken manor house in the northwest part of the country.

"Poor lads," Mrs Doyle sniffed and bemoaned their fate. "They will be living amongst the godless Protestants, the children of the dark!" for the next six months at least.

After Ryos made an off-the-cuff remark about Edward's job, she replied it involved cataloging the library of some bloody Anglo-Irish Lord and she even named the place, and the nearest town.

Somehow, Ryos managed to extricate himself from the overheated parlor before he gave in to the urge to throttle her, and go to the British Library prior to closing to get in some research time. What he discovered was that while the manor house, the Lord, and the town actually existed, the library already was catalogued. A copy of said catalog had been deposited in the library's reference section not two years ago. Ryos slammed the cover of the catalog shut, an action which earned him a stern "Shhh!" from a librarian, and reproving looks from other patrons.

His headache, which disappeared once he gained fresh air after leaving Mrs Doyle mysteriously returned in force. Edward had embedded a few raisins of truth inside a well baked lie and although he was just an Amestrine, he'd layed on the blarney as thickly as any son " 'o the old sod."

Mathun knew what to do, he always did. Just before midnight, all of them piled into the car and Cavanaugh drove them around in an apparently aimless fashion through the streets of London until Mathun directed him into an alleyway. Tola was left behind as a look-out at one end and Ryos at the other while Mathun ordered Cavanaugh and Conner to follow him.

After a few minutes of snaking their way through maladarous eighteenth century alleys, they came out into a small square courtyard formed by the blank backsides of nondescript brick buildings. Cavanaugh didn't ask questions when Mathun pointed to a wooden door that was deeply inset underneath a tiny porch.

Cavanaugh's one strength as a housebreaker was the speed at which he could pick a lock. Once inside the building, Mathun produced three small flashlights and the three crept up a back staircase by their dim illumination. The building was very old and in its youth was probably the townhome of some wealthy tradesman. Now fallen onto hard times, it was carved up into offices, but Cavanaugh saw some traces of its former glory which the remodelers had missed. Namely richly carved crown molding, ornate cornices and curved banisters among the enforced dullness of straight hallways punctuated at regular intervals by brown wood doors with frosted glass inserts.

It took them some searching, but the flashlight beams eventually lit up the words Tucker Employment Agency painted in neat gold letters on the glass. The doors smelled faintly of a recent rubbing with beeswax and the brass knob glowed like a beacon. But the lock yielded like a cheap whore and they entered the office soundlessly.

Horatio Tucker was not a rich man, but he did his best to show a front of respectable shabbiness. The upholstered chairs next to a low wooden table and all the rugs that deadened footsteps on the wooden floor were all past their prime and their age showed despite evidence of care. The chair fabric was worn if well darned, the table gleamed with polish and the rugs had been recently 'hoovered'. Only the magazines stiacked with care in the exact middle, not one spine out of place, were new.

The receptionist's desk had also seen better days, scarred with old cigarette burns and dents from collisions with something. All the paperwork was neatly piled on the upper right hand corners, a typewriter sat in the exact center, covered with a black cloth marked Royal in faded lettering. Cavanaugh saw a covered inkwell to the right of the typkewriter, but no pens, presumably they were stored in the top desk drawer.

None of them were locked and Mathun performed a perfunctory search. Their true quarry was through another door, this one Cavanaugh saw must have been original to the house, a four-panel affair of quarter sawn oak, black with age, and still in its original casing of oak with brass accents at the corners.

Gold lettering in a fancy gothic script proclaimed "H. Tucker", a bit faded as if ready for a fresh coat of paint. This door also smelled of a recent polishing and the brass accents shone brightly. This door was also locked, but it didn't give way so easily and Cavanaugh also guessed it was original. It took careful handling not to break a lockpick inside and he began to sweat at the thought. Conner probably could have smashed it down, but the noise would have been tremendous and certain to attract unwanted attention.

After what seemed like hours of work and every curse word Cavanaugh knew muttered into the stale night air, the tumblers clicked into position and the lock released. He stood by the door and massaged his aching back while Conner watched by the outer door and Mathun searched a bank of wooden filing cabinets. The faintest chuckle sounded from inside when he found the information he sought from Edward's employment file.

Not long after that, Mathun appeared at the inner office door, muttered "Let's be off" and strode out, leaving Cavanaugh to re-lock the door. They retreated soundlessly and without incident until they reached the alley where the car was. Ryos appeared to be busy in a back doorway to some business and once they got closer, Cavaugh saw he was fussing with a limp body. He was horrified when he saw the police constable slumped like a puppet with cut strings.

"Don't worry" Ryos assured while he arranged the man's head into a somewhat comfortable position. "He saw only Tola and then not closely enough to identify her before I sent him to the Land of Nod."

Ryos looked exceptionally pleased with himself and Cavanaugh knew he would be insufferable for the next few days. They drove back home to their lodgings and everyone went promptly to bed.

At breakfast the next morning, Matrhun first scanned the TImes before he announced another road trip - this time to Oxford. Cavanaugh just had time for a quick read and a small article buried in the middle of the paper mentioned the mysteriously knocked-out policeman, but there was nothing about a break-in at an old house converted into low rent offices.

/////////////

Oxford, the ancient university town of "the dreaming spires" was a lovely place, but unlike London, the bicycle traffic of hurrying students was more of a hazard than that of automobiles. They rented a house on a quiet side street and Mathun pored over a map of the area before they took their first drive out of Oxford, to a tiny village called Burnlae Halt early one morning. He directed Cavanaugh to stop near the village school where they watched a horse-drawn school bus draw up and release a small horde of chattering children.

"These are the children of the estate workers up at Burnlae Park," Mathun explained casually before he suddenly leaned forward , his blue eyes alight. "And there he is!"

A small blond boy, one of the last occupants exited the bus, closely followed by a taller boy with short hair the color of warm caramel.

"Alphonse!" Tola was happy to see Rudolfus's half-brother, but she abruptly stopped smiling and looked anxiously at Mathun.

He told Cavanaugh to drive bck to town immediately after the last child entered the school, where they enjoyed a leisurely lunch and Mathun told them what he'd discovered in Tucker's files. "Unfortunately, it will be impossible for us to conduct any closer surveillance of the brothers, the village is so small people will talk and word could get back to Edward. The last thing I need is to panic our quarry, Elric's first instinct would be to flee and that action would oblige us to collect them before we are ready. We will let them thiink they are safe, to relax and let their guard down."

After breakfast the morning after, Mathun and Cavanaugh left with barely a word. The pair first took a train to Glasgow, then switched to a short line railroad and finally a hired car on the lonely western coast of Scotland.

On a chilly November afternoon, he and Mathun stood on the rocky shore of an unnamed island in the Orkneys chain and looked at the outer wall of an abandoned castle.

"This castle is the way station, Cavanaugh. Here we will begin our journey home to Drachma."

Cavanaugh looked sideways at his employer and wondered what this meant for older man seemed charged up with electricity as if he were generating the power from within. Cavanaugh decided to put his doubts into actual words, Mathun had always been straight with him. "Mathun, what about me? I mean, I'm not a 'Drachman', so where will I end up?"

Mathun turned such a warm smile upon him, Cavaugh almost felt flattered. "The choice is yours, Bruce Cavanaugh. You may come with us, the Triumvirate will look upon you kindly and reward your generously for helping me. Or you can stay here in this world, I have seen to it you will have more than sufficient funds to live well for the rest of your life."

Cavanaugh was touched, yet he still couldn't force himself to believe Mathun completely. As if the older man had read his mind, Mathun continued. "I see you don't trust me utterly, Cavanaugh, but that is fine. It is always good to keep a little mistrust in the back of one's mind. A healthy instinct to have whatever choice you make."

He turned sharply on one heel and walked away, and after amoment, Cavanaugh hurried to follow. He didn't want to be left behind on this barren island, inhabited only by wind and incontinent gulls. He trailed Mathun over a creaky wooden bridge that stretched over a yawing gully strewn with straggly heather, and jagged stones that looked like human bones. It complained loudly with groans like dying men as they walked and Mathun's voice floated back, "An excellent system to warn us of visitors, eh Cavanaugh?"

Busy avoiding stepping on rotten planks, he just grunted in reply. The pair crossed a round courtyard floored with square limestone blocks. They'd clearly been there a very long time to judge by the amount of stunted grass that had grown up between. Mathun stopped short at the massive front door, a primitive looking affair of huge time darkened oak planks held together with square iron nails and stout strap hinges, the wood pockmarked with what appeared to be holes made by small cannon balls.

He pulled a large iron skeleton key from a coat pocket and fit it into a keyhole under the doorknob. It turned readily and the door swung open silently, both men wrinkled their noses as the combined odor of age, cold metal, mildewed stone and quite possibly ghosts rushed out to greet them.

A short walk down a high-ceilinged hall paneled in oak and lined with moldering banners led them them to another door and Mathun twisted the knob. It also opened, but with a horrendous creak and he pushed it open.

The space beyond was vast and echoing, Cavanaugh guessed it once was the Great Hall, the scene of feasts, celebrations and lamentations. Where the laird of the castle marshalled his troops before battle, or took a final stand against beseigers. It was an empty shell now, bare of any furniture or the colorful tapestries that shielded long ago inhabitants from the cold. Even the minstrel's gallery at one end was long gone, only a few rotted planks were left to reveal its former location.

Mathun turned around in a circle, his face alight with joy and he began to speak, as much as to himself as to Cavanaugh. "I once decided if I was fated to remain in this machine world forever, I would prefer Scotland to be my home. It alone reminds me of the empty valleys and stern mountains of Drachma. You may think my land is cold, but it has a severe beauty all its own. To see something like it again fills my heart with great happiness."

A low moaning sound throbbed from a narrow corridor leading off the far side of the Great Hall. Cavanaugh's reason told him it was only the wind blowing through unglassed windows and winding corridors, but his imagination saw the headless ghosts of clan warriors in kilts, bloody claymores in hand, stalking through the castle in some kind of endless penance for violent misdeeds.

Perhaps the inspiration for "the Scottish play" had occured within these walls, Scotland had a brutal and tragic history and...

"Cavanaugh? Are you with me?"

He jumped and came back to himself with a gasp when he noticed Mathun's face only inches from his own, those blue eyes boring deeply into his brown ones. Mathun smiled and Cavanaugh imagined the gates of Hell creaking open. Wether a Drachman or just a madman on holiday, Mathun was a frightening person.

He clapped one hand on Cavanaugh's shoulder and he felt that smile had partially reached those eyes for a moment. "Come, Cavanaugh! Let us be off back to civilization. Before any journey can take place, preparations must be made!

**Author's note #2:** I really meant to upload this story before Christmas, but my ten year old computer gave up the ghost in the second week of December. My brother lent me his newer computer, but I am having a great deal of trouble getting online due to my ISP refusing to recognize either my screen name or password. Fortunately, I was able to make use of a computer at my local library, thanks to one of the librarians taking off all the filters! Better late than never, Merry Christmas to all fanfiction writers and readers!


	34. Chapter 34

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, I just like to play around in its world and annoy the canon characters for a while

**Summary: ** Things look dark for Edward as he tries to face up to the fact Alphonse is dead. Or, is he?

**Warnings: ** Violence, character death and bad language

**Beta: ** Took-baggins

Chapter 34: In which Edward discovers he is not as alone as he thought

_When will this end?_

The shaking and bumping sent tremors of pain through Alphonse with every jarring thud and he suspected the truck driver was deliberately aiming for the deepest potholes on the already washboard-like road. He lay as still as he possiblly could on the hard wooden floor of the truck, but still he groaned aloud as fresh flares raced along his nerves and exploded behind his eyes.

His eyes.

He existed in a world of complete blackness, unable to see even a glimmer of light through either eye becuase they were still swollen shut from the beatings he'd taken. Every inch of him hurt so much, the trucks movement made his brain struggle and fail to invent new words for "excruciating agony". Alphonse could sense the presence of other people sitting around him, just sobbing and random mutterings, some in Amestrian, but others in languages strange to his ears.

A man was trying to comfort a crying woman whose loud sobs turned a knife in Alphonse's soul, "It's going to be all right. MI-6 is right on top of this and if I know Colonel Bond..."

Colonel Bond. It seemed a million years ago since Brother had introduced him to Bond back at his lodgings in Hotspur Hall. He tried to summon up a picture of the man in his mind as if for comfort,but it was too preoccupied with fielding pain messages to stay focused. For all their sakes, he hoped the unknown man was right.

For once the guards weren't yelling. Instead, they sang hymms in loud, out of key voices that rung like cracked bells. They songs all concerned war and spilling the blood of the Lord's enemies, they were an effective sort of punishment. Just then the truck rattled into an even deeper pothole in the rutted track, causing Alphonse to cry aloud in pain and some of the other hostages actually fell off their seats and jarred themselves on the wooden truck bed.

He instinctively braced himself, but no angry shouts of "silence!", nor kicks,slaps or punches followed this time. Almost as if the guards knew the punishment they carried the hostages to was far worse than any thrashing they could mete out.

Before he was loaded onto the truck, Sister Janette had come one last time to try and convert him. Alphonse was drifting in and out of consciousness, lost in pleasant dreams of childhood when he played with Edward, Winry and their other friends in Risembool. As a result, he found it was easy to ignore Janette and he heard only scraps of her 'talk' before he drifted back into his dreams.

Alphonse found himself back in Risembool, sitting on a stone wall and licking an ice cream cone. A scoop of strawberry topped with a scoop of real Bourbon vanilla, his favorite combination. Winry sat on his right side and Brother was sitting on her far side, Alphonse knew he was dreaming becasue both appeared as small children while he was the teenager he was now. No one spoke in the companionable silence as they slurped their ice cream and lazily kicked their feet in the air.

Den lay in her usual spot at Winry's feet, waiting for any stray drips. A soft warm breeze herded fluffy white clouds about in the vault of periwinkle blue sky above. Everything seemed to be as it should, but Alphonse gradually became aware of another person on the far side of Brother. He couldn't see a face, just nearly bare feet in black anklets kicking back and forth. Suddenly, both Brother and Winry jumped off the wall and ran away, hand in hand. Alphonse felt rather wistful watching them go until they disappeared over a low rise. Now he saw that hidden person and shock wiped all other emotions out his mind.

Envy.

But, something was different about the Sin. It wasn't the pistachio and peppermint ice cream cone he licked with an air of perfect contentment. He actually smiled at Alphonse, and even his violet eyes held a friendly light. Alphonse had the sense this dream-Envy did not bear him even an ounce of ill will.

Alphonse had fnished his cone by now and Envy said "Hello Den" before tossing the remainder of his cone into the dog's open mouth. Envy's smile only broadened while he watched Den crunch and swallow the cone noisily. Then the Sin turned his attention back to Alphonse and spoke directly to him.

"C'mon little brother, we have to talk."

Envy hopped off the wall and a bemused Alphonse followed suit, Den trotted after them while licking her chops. The trio strolled down the quiet and tree shaded dirt road that Alphonse knew led past the cemetery and the ruins of the Elric house, on their way into the village of Risembool proper. Along the way, Envy dropped an arm around Alphonse's shoulders, the Sin's skin was warm and the weight of it felt strangely comforting. They paused briefly on their way to watch the afternoon train leave Risembool on its way to East City and Envy waited until it was out of sight before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry, little brother, but you are going to die soon."

Alphonse was struck dumb for a moment and he looked up at Envy who gazed back with a disturbingly familiar expression on his face. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set in a taut half smile. Alphonse remembered Edward's face would assume that mein whenever he'd heard some particularly grim news. Den sat down in front of Alphonse and placed a paw on his left knee.

"I'm sorry too, Al, because I'm going to miss you. All the animals know you like them and they loved you for the kindness you showed." The dog flicked out her long pink tongue and she licked his left hand once while Alphonse just blinked in surprise because he'd never met a talking dog before. "It's going to hurt a lot."

That news didn't bother Alphonse quite so much because he was already hurting from the severe beatings. Envy swept his long arms around Alphonse and hugged him before he continued. "If you are lucky, Sister Janette will tie a bag of gunpowder around your neck" The Sin smiled in a bittersweet way and lightly squeezed his shoulders.

"Gunpowder?"

"Yeah, once the flames get close enough, the gunpowder will explode and blow your head off. Your death will be quick and nearly painless. Beats suffocating in the smoke - slow but unpleasant, or burning to death - faster, but agonizing."

"But what if Brother finds - "

"He won't find you soon enough Al. The Christianists took so many hostages they had to set up two Burning Grounds and - "

The sun abruptly exploded and flooded Alphonse's vision with intense light, like a flashbomb was detonated right in front of him. Both Envy and Den were washed away by the light, their shadowy figures and then their outlines shredded and faded away. At the same time, a wave of bone-deep pain raced through his nervous system and he woke up screaming.

The truck had stopped with one final lurch into a pothole. The tailgate was let down with a deafening clang and the guards began to hand hostages out. Two stood on the truck and led blindfolded people to the edge and handed them to two other men who helped them to the ground. They bound the hands of each hostage behind their backs with short lengths of scratchy hemp ropes before urging them towards a ring of twelve wooden poles. Even with their senses of sight muffled, some of the hostages seemed to know what was coming and they dug in their heels, a couple of the women whimpering in fear.

"NO! I don't want to die!" one cried out in a shrill,panicked voice.

"Too late, witch!" A Christianist woman yelled as she sank her hands into the woman's hair, grabbed and twisted before she dragged the crying hostage forward. Two men shoved her from behind. She fell down to her knees and began to recite a hymn known as The Disciple's Creed. But it only got her some hard kicks to the back and buttocks while she was hauled along the ground by her hair. Until someone shouted "Oh, pick her up!" and the men seized her arms and bore her off to the left-most pole.

Alphonse was brought out last, he stood at the edge of the truck bed and moved his head about blindly. The two guads slowly lowered him down, but his knees buckled soon after his feet touched the ground, and he gritted his teeth to prevent any more screaming. He didn't want to die, but even his hope Brother would come racing in and rescue him was beginning to fade. Acceptance of his coming death hovered at the edges of his mind, ready to seep into the vacuum and it had a surprisingly calming effect on his emotions.

////////////////////////////////////

Ian hated to hear and see women crying, but to hear a man cry, Ian reflected, was a thousand times worse. Men were supposed to be brave and stoic and for those twin braces to fall to the onsalught of grief was a sign of just how dire the situation was. He still stood a few feet away from Edward with his back was to him, but his soul squirmed with each sob. Ian chanced a glance back only once, Edward was on still on his knees, but his muddy hands rested upon his thighs. His bangs blessedly hid his face all screwed up with grief, but not the tears which fell like rain while his shoulder shook convulsively.

Ian turned away again. He felt he should go other and try to offer some crumbs of comfort, but his feet stayed in pace. Colonel Elric's grief was private and mustn't be intruded upon. Let the poor man have some dignity at least. No one else was near them, the police had finished delivering their charges into ambulances that rushed them to the nearest hospital, and the mortuary crews were almost done recovering the bodies - or ashes of bodies. The final one passed by on Ian's right, the bearers of the canvas body bag - two men and two women - handling their charge tenderly like it was the most delicate porcelain and not a charred corpse. The sweet smell of burnt human flesh accompanied by the smell of wet ashes hit his nose and made his stomach turn badly enough to cause Ian to clench his fists until his finger nails scored half moons into his palms.

Agent Dasher had wandered off to cry alone on the far side of the gyrocopter. Fat lot of good that bit of technology had been, it still hadn't been quick enough to save Alphonse Elric and the other hostages who died. He dreaded the coming days: another tense interview with the The Higher-Ups, an official report to the Queen and Prime Minister, a personal verbal apology to the Amestrian Ambassador for his failure and maybe even a trip to Amestris to attend Alphonse's funeral. Thunder rumbled softly in the far distance as if reprimanding Ian for his tardiness and he clenched his fists again. The threat of a rainstorm would spur the Crime Scene Investigation Unit to step out smartly and collect evidence before it was washed away.

///////////////////////////////////////

Edward ignored everything and everyone about him. The world could have ended and he wouldn't have paid it the slightest bit of attention. All his hopes of rescuing Al were dashed, utterly blasted away. His brother was dead, burned to ashes and Edward felt he would cry for the rest of his life. Not since the day his mother died had he felt such bone-deep grief that seared his soul and crushed his will to live. So he let the titanic wave of tears carry him away and he cried harder than he'd ever thought he could.

He'd crept away to the woods after his mother died, walked beneath the trees until he was certain no one could hear him. There on a blanket of fallen leaves deep into Robin's Wood, he'd curled up into a ball of misery and cried with abandon until his eyes were red and swollen, and his throat scratchy and raw. Several adults later praised him for remaining dry-eyed and composed at the funeral while the waterworks were turned on all about him. But the truth was, he was just plain numb and it was easy for him to play the part of Stoic Elder Brother even though he wanted to join Al while he also wailed at the gravesite.

_Alphonse._

A fresh burst of grief squeezed Edward's heart and he briefly cried harder while his body rocked back and forth with the force of it. He also heard the thunder, but he ignored that too. So the whole world would cry along with him. That was fine, he no longer cared what it did. A whisper nibbled at the edge of his mind, a whisper which said one word: _revenge_.

_REVENGE!_

He would be justified in slaughtering every last one of the Christianists. They would feel the unholy wrath of a State Alchemist. He would bathe in their blood, walk knee deep in gore while he slit throat after throat and gave them a taste of the fear their victims felt, and -

No. He pushed revenge away and banished it back to his primitive underbrain, where it crouched and gibbered with frustration. Revenge, Colonel Bastard told him after the Tucker incident, was a dish best served cold. Meaning vengeance was not to be taken in the heat of passion, but meted out later, after reason had taken hold. But the twelve-year old Edward Elric hadn't cared, he wanted to find Nina's killer and tear him apart bit by bit while the bastard begged for mercy. Only after he encountered the killer-Scar-and heard his story did Edward understand what a pathetic creature the thirst for revenge had turned the Ishbalan into. In the end, Scar partially redeemed himself by saving Al's life from that massive alchemic reaction in Lior. Although Edward realized it was pointless to hate a dead man, he couldn't bring himself to completely forgive Scar.

Edward must be running out of tears. His crying eventually lost power and slowed to hiccuping sobs, punctuated by brief freshets of tears each time his mind touched on Alphonse. It leapt and then skittered away like a frightened animal from the deep pain, as if from a cut with a sharp knife. The open wound was so raw, so painful to touch. Edward raised his tear stained face and the world rushed back into his consciousness when he realized he heard not thunder, but hoofbeats.

Ian looked quizzically at the small party of horsemen who reined up near him, their sensitive mounts dancing sideways at the smell of death still hangng in the air. He did a double take when he recognized the leader of the group. The tall man who who led them sat in the saddle like he was a king on this throne. Age had touched that face with lines and wrinkles, but it hadn't dimmed the fiery golden eyes that stared haughtily down like a lions. Nor had it left many gray hairs in the long blond mane caught back in a ponytail. It cascaded down his back and seemed almost as long as the tail of the magnificent black stallion he rode.

Roderic Eldritch.

He nodded briefly, if curtly, to Ian as if to acknowledge the presence of another strong man, but his true interest lay elsewhere, on the grief stricken Edward Elric. Roderic dismounted with the lithe grace of a much younger man, arthritis didn't seem to have a hold on him either. He dropped the reins to trail on the ground and the horse stood patiently while his master walked over to Edward and crouched down next to him. He placed a massive black-gloved hand upon Edward's left shoulder and squeezed it until Edward looked up at him with surprise.

"Your brother lives, Edward Elric." He pulled a snowy white handkerchief from a pocket of his dark red riding jacket with his left hand and stuck it in Edward's face. "But not for long, so dry your tears and let us ride to free him and the other hostages."

Neither Edward nor Ian moved because both were stunned into sort of a temporary paralysis. Edward had met a few men who were so confident in their masculinity- Colonel Bastard, damn him-was one of them, although his confidence was a quieter type. But it still hit him like a punch in the face. Such men always made him feel like he was a little boy again and he swore he'd never act in that fashion. In Edward's mind, the hope Alphonse was not one of those charred bodies was like a lifeline flung to a drowning man. Once it seemingly was out of reach on the far back of a flood-swollen river and he would surely go under the rushing waters of his sorrow.

Edward stared in disbelief at the handkerchief for what seemed like hours before he reached out and yanked it from Roderic's fingers and savagely daubed his reddened eyes. He was scrubbing at the tear stains on his reddened cheeks when another rider dismounted and came forward, leading both his horse and another one. Ian recognized the short cropped hair shot though with grey. Rudolfus of Drachma. By the man's shambling walk, Ian realized, with a jolt of amusement, the man was extremely saddle sore.

"Little brother, hurry and mount up! We must ride quickly!" Edward turned his head to stare first at his half-brother and then swiveled it towards Roderic. The life ring was coming right at him and he grabbed for it with both hands.

"Ian!" He looked around Rudolfus and at the spymaster. "Can you and Agent Dasher follow us in the gyrocopter?" His voice cracked with the strain but it was all business again. Edward swiped once more at his face with the handkerchief before he blew his nose with a loud honking noise which made the three horses snort and toss their heads. Roderic's lips quirked into a paternal smile, "You may keep it" after Edward offered the sodden square of cloth back.

/////////////////////////////////

Not five minutes later, Edward felt he'd made a terrible mistake. Just mounting the small dark bay mare Rudolfus brought for him was a trial. Roderic assured him "Trinket is a gentle mare who knows when she had a novice on her back", but Edward decided the man was lying. Rudolfus made a stirrup of his hands to help him mount, but he pushed so hard Edward nearly sailed right over the saddle and back to the ground. Trinket shifted underneath him and he grabbed the saddle horn in a death grip with both hands. He sat up straighter and struggled to find his stirrups and the moment he did, Trinket grabbed the bit in her teeth and went straight from standing docilely into a full out gallop.

The mare seemed determined to scare him to death, because she never stopped while he struggled to find a secure seat. His boots weren't suited to riding and they either slipped forward in the stirrups or threatened to slide out backwards. Pulling on the reins made not a bit of difference to Trinket, the mare knew the way to go and she wanted to get there as quickly as possible. So he stopped pulling and just held on to the saddle horn so tightly his left hand ached. But worst of all, Edward's behind wasn't in sync with the saddles movement, so that and his manhood were jounced painfully with each stride. _I'll never father children_ was his insane thought as he struggled to simply stay on.

Roderic led the way aboard his black stallion and he seemed to instinctively choose the roughest route through the countryside of New Britain, which rushed past and beneath the riders. The first jump, a furze hedge, took Edward by surprise. Roderic's horse simply lept into the air over that hedge and disappeared, and before he could react Trinket was flying over the same obstacle. Edward felt a brief heart-stopping moment of weightlessness before the mare returned to earth with a sickening lurch that nearly pitched him over her head. He hauled himself back upright just in time to see Roderic jump a four-rail fence. Edward felt he was far from ready and he gathered up the reins before he pulled hard on them.

Trinnket slithered to a dead stop, the other riders streamed past to fly up and over the fence. In less than a minute Edward was alone and silence rushed, broken only by his and Trinket's loud breathing and the creak of sadddle leather. The mare turned her head to look at Edward and he could have sworn she was giving him 'the hairy eyeball'. Then she snorted, as if in disgust at his cowardice.

"I'm sorry, Trinket, but I can't do it." This excuse sounded lame even to him.

Hoofbeats approaching from the other side of the fence made both of them look up and Trinket's alto whinny was answered by a deeper, tenor neigh. Moments later a girl on a large grey horse popped over the fence and cantered up to them.

"What's the matter, Colonel Elric?" She had a soft and melodious voice completely unlike Roderic's brash boom.

Edward just gestured helplessly, too embarrassed to admit he was afraid of the fence. The girl looked to be in her late teens with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her yellow eyes looked very striking against some loose strands which blew around her face. She was dressed in a trim riding outfit of tight cream colored pants, a dark blue long sleeved shirt underneath a waist length black jacket, plus shiny black riding boots and black gloves. She was obviously a superior rider, but she'd probably been riding since she could crawl. Edward's only experience with horses was the occasional ride on the broad back of a plodding cart horse belonging to a neighboring farmer.

"Trust in Trinket, Colonel Elric, she's got years of jumping experience. I learned to jump on her." She capped that statement with a friendly smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, which looked a bit haunted. Edward guessed she must be Trinity Eldritch, the girl Ian and his men rescued from a fiery fate.

That made him remember Alphonse who was facing the same unpleasant death and he felt ashamed of his fear. Edward awkwardly sawed at the reins to bring Trinket around and point her at the fence. The mare snorted again, but the timbre was different as if she was chuckling. "Keep the reins loose and lean forward a bit as you approach the jump, and then lean back as you land. Try not to tense up and you will be fine."

Edward tapped Trinket with his heels and the mare sped forward. He made sure she had plenty of rein and he leaned forward as the jump seemed to rush at them, and then backward when he felt the weightless feeling again. Trinket's fore hooves hit the ground with a solid thump, but the landing wasn't as jarring as before. "I'm sorry, Trinket, do you forgive me?" he mumbled into her laid-back ears. She gave him a ringing neigh in reply so Edward shook the reins and shouted, "Let's go!" He tapped her sides with his heels again.

The mare was off like a bullet shot from a gun and unlike the first time, Edward's heart didn't leap into his throat. He crouched low over her withers, knees gripping her sides, hands moving in concert with her bobbing head. His posting was far from ideal, but at least his backside wasn't getting the same wicked thumping with each stride.. Trinity came up on his right and they pulled a bit ahead of Edward. Her horse soared over a dry stone fence like it had sprouted wings. At the same time his hands loosened their grip on the reins and Trinket sailed over with barely a hitch in her stirde.

Edward was still a green horn, but he was learning fast although he didn't feel like going out and buying a riding horse any time soon. The other riders came back into view and Edward grinned because his anxiety was bleeding away slowly and he was feeling more confident. He risked cocking one eye upwards. It was difficult to see in the overcast sky, but he could just spy the black silhouette of the gyrocoper following along. It few high up to avoid spooking the horses - or alerting the Christianists their little "party" was going to be crashed. Edward's spirits soared along with Trinket as she leaped another fence.

The group galloped on for another mile, crested a small hill and came down the other side before Roderic raised one hand as a signal to pull up. Now the pounding of hoofbeats had ceased, Edward could just hear the sound of an idling truck engine over the horses blowing. "The wind is against us, which is good. It won't carry any noise we make to the Christianists, but we'll have to dismount here and go in on foot."

Everyone else did so quickly, but both Edward and Rudolfus got off a little stiffly. They were going to feel the results of this "exercise" next morning. Edward neary fell to his knees after he reached the ground because the bones felt like they were made of water. His backside burned like it was on fire and he walked with difficulty after he pulled the reins over Trinket's head and led her forward for a few yards He patted her sweaty neck and murmured "Thank you, Trinket" in a low voice into one ear. She briefly nuzzled his shoulder as if to say 'Be off with you, human.'

He dropped the reins like everyone else did,and they puddled on the ground. A dozen steps brought the entrie group to the lip of a small valley where Edward sucked his breath in because the butterflies returned to roost in his stomach. Perhaps 200 yards or so away in a clearing between two tree filled hillocks was a circle of wooden stakes surrounded by massive piles of yet more wood. A small fire was burning in front of the idling truck he'd heard before and around that fire walked a large group of robed and chanting people holding short wooden staffs. They were reciting some sort of prayer and this gave Edward an unpleasant jolt.

He'd attended several meetings of the Thule Society along with his father while trapped in the machine world. The others - Hohenheim would murmur very softly but Edward only mouthed the words - chanted in a similar fashion while they stood on the edge of an array. The prayer suddenly came to an end and each of the robed figures dropped the tips of their staffs into the fire.

No, not staffs. Those were TORCHES.

Pair by pair, the Christianists trooped in a line across the clearing till they stood a few feet from the poles. Each duo went to each pile of wood and waited expectantl for a signal. Then one clear voice rang out and the words were audible even to Edward. They made his blood run cold.

**"BURN THE SINNERS!"**

Each pile of wood caught quickly with loud flaring sounds. The flames rushed around the bottom of each pile before beginning to creep upwards. Edward looked up at the platforms and saw two figures struggling on each one, he imagined he heard faint cries of distress. His eyes ranged first to the left and then to the right in search of Alphonse. In the very middle of the twelve poles, he saw one person was smaller than the others. It had to be Alphonse - but he wasn't moving - and Edward's insides turned to ice. Perhaps he was already - dead?

"Don't think like that, little brother." Rudolfus sidled next to Edward without him even knowing it. They were well away but he kept his voice pitched low. "I can see it on your face, it is so expressive."

"Suggestions, anyone? Roderic asked in a calm and even tone. He alone didn't seem perturbed by what was happening. Edward nervously chewed the side of his left thumb and thought hard. He looked down at the ground, the rough grass was wet with rain from the night before and the damp earth smell was strong.

Earth.

In the absence of water, it would smother flames, denying them the oxygen they needed to sustain their destructive force. Edward gave Roderic a big smile and pointed dow. The older man's lips curved upward in an expression which exactly mirrored his. Then he did something which surprised Edward. Roderic reached around to the back of his neck and fiddled with something there. He returned his hands to the front and they were holding a glittering strand. Roderic pulled and a medallion hidden by the high collar of his riding jacket came out into the air. Edward noticed everyone else was holding out a similar pendant. No, not a pendant, but a miniature alchemy array made of metal, either gold or silver.

"Form a line, everyone!" Roderic ordered cripsly and the entire group obeyed to line up at the valleys lip. "Each person concentrate on one pole, a fist of earth to smother those flames." People crouched down and placed their arrays on the ground before them. "On the count of three everyone!"

"ONE!"

The others bowed their heads as if in prayer and concentrated before they touched their arrays which glowed in varying shades of light. Edward felt the power thrumming through the soles of his boots. He stood alone, the hem of his coat flapping in the breeze.

"TWO!"

He clapped his hands and his soul sang with the surge of power. He WAS the array and the he imagined the runes he required lining up in his mind. He stared at the middle pole because that one was his. The runes in his mind began to glow with blue light.

_ALPHONSE!_

"THREE!"

Edward dropped quickly to one knee and slammed his hands onto the ground. The power flowed out of his mind, down his arms and into the earth to do his bidding. Alchemic power sizzled and hissed in arcs of a rainbow of colors from the other arrays before it also dove down. For a brief space, one or two heartbeats, nothing happened. Then Edward saw a slight spasm, a lifting of the ground as if it were an ocean wave and they were the epicenter of an earthquake.

It subsided, but another wave apeared almost immediately, and this one was larger. Edward gritted his teeth and concentrated harder, pushing the power along with sheer will power. _This is for Alphonse!_ The earth waves became higher, the intervals between them shorter as they moved faster and faster towards the burning poles.

The flames were significantly higher now and the breeze brought faint screams to Edward's ears. He used that deseperation to fuel the transmutatio. Every molecule in his body hummed like a massive invisible chorus, resonating with the power of alchemy. Edward's vision began to blur because he was concentrating with such intensity. For all he knew the outside world ceased to exist while he communed with the Power. He bit down so hard his teeth began to hurt, but he never felt it.

_FASTER!_

The earth wave struck the bonfire and the whole pile seemed to melt into the ground. The truck sank to its cab into a hole which simply opened like a hungry mouth. Some of the Christianists realized they were under an alchemic attack and they pulled pistols from their belts and began firing at the earth. As if they could stop it. The shooting ended almost as soon as it began when the earth wave knocked all of them off their feet. A few quickly recovered and tried to scramble to their feet. But efforts werer too late as the earth turned fluid and they sank in to their waists. Just as quickly, the earth solidified and effectively imprisoned them. Then all was quiet for a moment, save the crackling of flames and screams of the hostages. Suddenly, a patch of ground before each pole liquified and pillars of earth shot several feet up into the air, twelve in all.

Each pillar metamorphized into a fist whch opened up into a hand. It came crashing down upon the pieces of burning wood, crushing and splintering them before spreading over each tongue of flame, and every hot ember. The ground solidified a final time and just like that, the burning was over. Roderic and the other relaxed and the alchemic hum weakened before faded away altogether. Edward opened his eyes but closed them again when sweat dripping down his face stung them. He raised his head and winced when his stiff neck complained with aches. Edward sat back on his haunches and blinked back the sweat before he wiped his right arm over his wet face. Now the euphoria of transmuation had lifted, he was uncomfortably aware of his stiff joints, pounding heart and clothes damp with sweat. They stuck to his skin and he couldn't wait to get back to his lodgings and take a long hot shower.

He hadn't given so much of himself to a transmutation for a long time.

Edward's eyelids began to feel unusually heavy and he fougtht back against the strong urge to just curl up on the cold, wet ground and take a nap. He looked over to his left to see his half brother rise very slowly to his feet. Rudolfus's lined face looked years old, it was swet with sweat and paled several hues from all the energy he'd expended. Even Trinity looked worn out. She stayed in a crouch while her hands moved very slowly to refasten the chain about her neck and tuck her array back under her collar. A few of the others had risen to a standing position, raised their hands hands into the air and clapped once before stretching to one side and then the other to relax cramped muscles.

Only Roderic Eldritch didn't seem tired. Quite the opposite, the man looked postively energized, his eyes shone with vitality while he stretched. Edward let his gaze sweep back to the Christianists who struggled in their earthen prisons. The alchemists up on the platforms were mostly quiet now. He could see faces turned in his direction and one or two called out for help. But he only had eyes for a still figure who hung silently from the ropes binding him to the pole.

_Alphonse...._

He was still waiting to be rescued and Edward's weariness immediately left him at this thought. He caught Roderic's eye and the older man smiled briefly as if he understood Edward's intent. He turned and nodded at two young men who nodded back and started to walk, then broke into jogs back to the horses. After a shrill whistle floated back to them, Roderic put two fingers into his mouth and uncorked a whistle loud enough to wake the dead. Whinnies split the air as if in reply, and all the riderless horses came cantering back, Roderic's black stallion in the lead. Trinket came straight to Edward and stopped right next to him. He saw her reins had been looped back, the ends tied to the saddle horn. She turned her head and looked expectantly at him before nudging his left arm with her head as if to say, "Well? Hurry up, human!"

Edwarrd untied the reins and tried to stick his left food into the stirrup, but it was a bit too high and Trinket, impatient to be off began to jig in place and throw her head up and down. "Hold still, dammit!" he growled and that seemed to work because Trinket stood still, although she gave him another reproachful look for his 'language'. Edward finally shoved the toe of his boot into the stirrup and standing on tiptoe grabbed the saddle horn with one hand and the cantle with the other. He silently counted to three before taking a deep breath and heaving himself upward. It was still an awkward scramble for him to get into the saddle and he was still working to get settled as the last riders urged their horses into gallops.

Edward had barely gotten his right foot into its stirrup and picked up the reins when Trinket suddenly shied, whirling and then rearing when the gyrocopter roared by only one hundred feet above his head. He dropped the reins and dug his fingers into Trinnket's mane until she came down but pointing the wrong way. He'd lost the strrups and worked to get his boots planted back in them, then pulled the left rein to turn her and clicked his tongue.

The mare was off like a fired bullet again, so fast his right foot came back out of the stirrup. Trinket flew over the valley's lip and charged down towards the Burning Ground like a cavalry horse. Edward's boot found a tenuous toehold back in the stirrup so he just gave her plenty of rein and held on for dear life.

She passed several horses in her headlong dash before the rucked-up ground close to the poles forced her to slow down. She nimbly wove her way through the crowd of trapped Christianists who hurled insults and other verbal abuse at him and the rest of Roderic's party. Edward ignored them and tugged the reins to aim Trinket at the middle as if she knew exactly what he wanted, Trinket slowed to a trot and then a walk before she stopped at the bottom of the mud covered pile of smoldering wood around the pole.

**"AL!"** Edward stood up in the stirrups with anxiety coloring his shout. He attempted to dismount quickly yet gracefully, but his right boot became briefly hung up in the stirrup. When he tried to free it, his left boot slid backwards out of its stirrup. He made a frantic grab for the saddle horn, but missed and fell in an awkward tangle of limbs and coat. Embarrassed, he lay still for a moment until he imagined he heard the faintest call of "Brother?" flaot down from above.

It galvanized Edward like he'd received an electric shock. He regained his feet, shook himself once to straighten out his coat and charged up the small hill of mud. His boots sunk into the sticky mess and he quickly lost traction on the steep angle. "AL!" Edward frantically dug his hands deep into the mud and clawed hard for every inch he gained. He looked up once at Alphonse and any further words stuck in his throat.

His little brother hung like a broken puppet from rough hemp rope wound several times around his body which bound both him and another man to the pole. This man was trying to twist around to look at Edward who was making a lot of noise huffing and puffing while he climbed. But a blindfold was still in place and he couldn't see until he finally leaned back against the pole to in an attempt to rub the piece of cloth loose.

Edward finally reached the lip of the platform, he grasped it tightly with both hands and grunted in his effort to haul himself out of the clinging brown mud. He immediately started to work on the ropes which bound Al's wrists behind his back, but his mud covered hands were making the task very difficult. His frustration mounted and he began to mutter swear words under his breath until he remembered to alchemize the cover of his right arm into a blade. The extremely sharp metal sliced through the rope like it was butter, but Alphonse's hands hung limply at his sides.

"Hang on, Alphonse, I'm going to get you out of this."

Alphonse was quiet again and Edward hoped he'd merely passed out from the pain. Although his head hung low, chin to chest, Edward could see a slow drip of blood from his face. Alphonse's left hand was swollen to twice the size of the other and Edward guessed it was broken. Fresh anger blossomed in his chest at those who'd done this. But he would deal with the ones responsible later. First, Alphonse needed urgent medical care.

"Senor?"

Edward looked over in the direction of the voice. A plump man with short black hair and a long drooping black mustache with a blindfold half on and half off peered anxiously back at him. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle and his round face was covered with dark bruises and dried blood. His hair hung in greasy knots and his mustache was bedraggled with one side inexplicably shorter than the other. "Scuse?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry", muttered Edward and he took the few short steps to chop at the rope which bound the man's fat wrists. It also gave after a just a couple of whacks and slithered to the platform.

"Grazie, senor, grazie." the man rubbed his left wrist with his right hand while he smiled broadly to show his appreciation. Edward couldn't understand him, so he simply nodded before returning to Alphonse's side..

Down below him, Roderic and the others hadn't been idle. THey'd climbed on to the other poles and released the remaining hostages. Four at a time went up so two people could support each hostage down the muddy hills. All of them had bruised and bloody faces, some held their sides to shield broken or cracked ribs. One man had suffered a broken arm and he came down biting his lips until it bled.

The Christianists were left alone in thier muddy prisons. The alchemized ground would hold them nicely until they could be properly sorted out by the Royal Anti-Terrorism Force. Edward could hear the sound of approaching vehicles in the distance and presently two trucks full of uniformed men and women ground into the clearing, closely followed by a line of six ambulances. Men and women dressed in white clothing with red crosses stitched on to the back leapt out of the latter vehicles. They caried folded up stretchers and set a line of them upon the ground. Then they approached the rescued hostages and started triage for the most seriously injured.

Amelia must have radioed their position as soon as the clearing in the little valley was located and Edward felt a stab of gratitude towards the Ishvarlian agent. Right now, he was preoccupied with the problem of how to get Alphonse to an ambulance without causing him further pain. Rudolfus and one of the ambulance people struggled up the steep incline to the platform, the latter's white clothing already well spattered with mud. They stopped halfway up to look down at the soldiers who stood about in small groups and scratched their heads while wondering just how they were going to extricate the Christianists from the ground. Edward decided to stick with his task and let them figure it out.

Rudolfus was helping to carry two long poles wrapped in canvas and it took Edward's sluggish brain a few beats to process the information it was a folded up stretcher. He merely pointed at Alphonse and Rudolfus understood instantly. His half-brother came around Edward to put his hands underneath Alphonse's arms. Edward brought his automail blade up and began slashing at the remaining ropes. The hemp was thick and stubborn, but it yielded after just a few passes of the sharp metal. Rudolfus grunted slightly as he took the entire dead weight of the unconscious boy, pushing him partially upright so they didn't plunge off the narrow platform.

His head fell backwards as Rudolfus turned his body and knelt to lay him down on the unfolded stretcher. Alphonse lay still, the subtle movement of his chest the only sign he was still alive.

"Strewth!" The word just burst from the lips of the ambulance man who was supporting the foreign alchemist. He shook his head, aghast at the state Alphonse was in. The boy's face was so distorted with swellings and bruises, puffy split lips and purpled eyelids, Edward barely recognized him. "Poor laddie, he's in a very bad way, very bad. Getting him to hospital will be a trial."

"First let's get him off this damn pole, I can't stand the sight of it anymore." Edward's voice was thick and shaky with emotion, or maybe it was just delayed reaction to coming down from his adrenaline rush. He could feel himself getting punch drunk with weariness because stale childhood comments were whirling around in his brain:

"Did you get the number of the truck that hit you?"

"Someone looks like a wall jsut fell on him."

"You look like something the cat dragged in."

The last one would be funny if the situation wasn't so dire. Edwald knelt down and put two fingers against Alphonse's neck. A pulse was there, if weak and thready. Alphonse's skin felt cold and clammy, his clothes were torn and dirtied with mud and the rusty marks of dried blood, and his shoulder length hair was greasy. A soft moan issued from between split and swollen lips, Alphonse was trying to regain consciousness, but the boy gave up the struggle and relaxed back into sleep.

"Al? It's okay, I'm here and I'll get you to a hospital. Just hang in there a little bit longer." Edward held Alphonse's broken left hand gently between his own hands as if to transfer some of this strength. But Alphonse didn't respond and Edward's stomach started churning again. A pulse beat of pain began to make itself known just behind his eyes, a result of no food since breakfast and over tiredness. The foreign alchemist was almost down to the ground with the help of the amublance man and it was time to get Alphonse down. Rudolfus hopped off the platform and into the mud, he overbalanced and put his arms out to right himself. Only when he was secure did he reach out for the poles by Alphonse's feet. He hefted it to shoulder height and pulled back a bit. Edward sat down on the edge of the platform and eased himself down into the turned and took the poles by Alphonse's head, grunted once and heaved his end off the platform.

The stretcher tilted alarmingly and the two shifted their grip on the poles to bring it down to waist height and level it out . Rudolfus started down the slope first, walking very slowly while looking back over his shoulder. Edward dug in his heels because gravity and Alphonse's weight threatened to pull him down flat on his face. He bent backwards, his left shoulder and arm aching with the strain as they made a slow and torturous descent. Any jostle made Alphonse groan and Edward's breath hitched in his throat each time.

Suddenly, Ian was there and he took a hold of one pole. "Please let me help, Edward." They'd reached the bottom of the hill without him even realizing it, and with a sigh of relief, Edward let him grab the other one and take the weight. Amelia also came up and offered him a canteen, naked sympathy in her wide red eyes. He murmured his thanks, pulled the stopper and lifted the canteen to his lips before he took several long pulls. The water was clear and cold and it felt good rushing down his parched throat. He didn't drink all the water, intending to give the rest to Rudolfus. But a nurse was already by his half brother's side and offering him a flask. Edward smiled and tipped the canteen back to drain it dry.

The nurse knelt next to the stretcher now, shaking her head while guiding stethoscope ends into her ears. Her face turned very somber while listened to his heartbeat and his respiration. "Poor lad might not live long enough to get to hospital"

"He's hurt really badly, Ian. The bastards broke several bones and I'm afraid he could be bleeding internally." Edward looked over toward the sound of roaring engines. Some of the ambulances, filled with the injured were turning around and slowly trundling back the way they'd come down the track which seemed to be composed chiefly of potholes. "No way, Ian. No way could Al handle an ambulance ride, it'll kill him!"

Edward shifted his gaze over to the now silent gyrocopter which had landed a few feet beyond the half buried Christianist truck. For the first time since he'd reached Alphonse, his face cracked in that familiar Elric smile.

"We'll take him in the gyrocopter, Ian."

The spymaster was struck dumb for a moment, then he followed Edward who walked past Alphonse's stretcher and protested, "See here, Edward, you can't. The passenger area isn't large enough for Alphonse to lie down and there is no way he could sit up -" He stopped between the truck and the stretcher, his voice trailing away.

Edward kept walking,his boots squelching in the mud, over to the disabled truck. He stopped next to it and reached up to pat the canvas cover over the trucks bed. "Alphonse will stay on his stretcher, and ride underneath the gyrocopter." He beckoned Rudolfus with one hand, "Bring Al over here."

The spymaster looked at the Drachman who looked blank for a moment before a smile similar to Edward's crept across his face. Ian next met Amelia's gaze, but she just responded with a blank look and a shrug. _These alchemists are mad_. Yet she crouched down and picked up one end of the stretcher and Rudolfus picked up the other.

"Right." Edward rubbed his hands together after the stretcher was set back down on the ground. "Let's light this candle." He blew out a sigh and silently asked the Gate of Truth for the strength he would need. He positioned himself halfway down the truck's length, clapped his hands and touched the canvas top.

Immediately, a hissing sound, like hot coals splashed with water filled the air and blue light flared into the air. Ian could smell the alchemy as it ozoned the air and made it seem heavy and difficult to breathe as if the transmutation was using up all the oxygen molecules for energy. He remembered Edward had seemed out of breath after he'd alchemized that protective wall along the River Thamar, an event which appeared to have occurred ten years ago.

The canvas cover began to ruffle as if buffeted by the wind and then it twisted upon itself like soft taffy before it turned semi liquid and flowed into the air. The nurse exclaimed "Bloody hell!" and backed up a few steps, her face pale. One hand fluttered to her chest like a startled bird seeking shelter. The canvas was forming itself around the stretcher, jiggling like jelly under Edward's hands. He crouched next to the stretcher, molding the canvas like clay. If it was too thick in one spot Edward moved it to fill in a thinner area. Ian looked back at the truck and he was startled to see the canvas abruptly ended halfway down as if sliced by a sharp knife, so clean was the new edge. The now exposed metal supports gleamed in the pale afternoon light like the ribs of some great beast.

He switched his gaze back to Edward who was putting the finishing touches upon the morphing fabric. His eyes were half closed and he bore a beautific expression on his face, as if he was in some sort of ecstatic trance. Maybe alchemy was a sort of religion and those most skilled in the use of it were its high priests.

Roderic and some of his party had wandered over to watch Edward at work. The crackling blue light reflected in their eyes, and they were gazing almost adoringly at it. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Roderic said to Rudolfus and the other man nodded, his face still blank. "We are seeing a master alchemist at work."

Edward finally dropped his hands and the sound and light show faded away into nothingness as he slumped back on his haunches. The canvas solidified, and it now surrounded Alphonse like a cocoon which held him firmly, yet not tightly to the stretcher. Edward beamed at his creation like a proud father. His face was pale but eventually regained its former fair color, if more slowly than the last time. "I'm not finished yet." His voice was soft with exhaustion. "Ian, would you help Rudolfus carry the stretcher over to the gyrocopter and position it underneath?"

Later that night the spymaster would be amazed at himself for the ease in which he carried out the request of a foreign alchemist, but right now he simply picked up one end. Once it was in place, centered underneath the gyrocopter, Edward somehow summoned up an extra burst of energy and again blue hissed and crackled like a nest of angry neon snakes as the wooden stretcher handles writhed and twined themselves around the gyrocopters struts. Edward urged the wood to stretch and solidify again. Before he finished, he swept his hand over the canvas above Alphonse's head so the leading edge rose up slightly and re-hardened into a curved wind shield.

This time, Edward really was at the end of his rope. He didn't rise from his crouch next to the stretcher and his sweaty face remained pale. He felt boneless and utterly drained, but he still wasn't finished. A sort of support system needed to be rigged up to bear Alphonse's weight. He tried to rise to his feet, but just staggered backwards and fell with a thump on to his backside, and he remained in that position, head hanging. Roderic knelt down next to Edward,took a small engraved silver flask from an inside pocket of his riding jacket and offered it.

Edward accepted it gratefully with a quiet murmur of "thank you", uncrewed the cap and took a deep swig while his fingers trembled slightly on the flask. This proved to be a mistake as strong fumes raced up his nose and made his eyes water. At the same time he coughed and sputtered heat exploded in his stomach like a bomb. He managed to stammer out "WHAT was that??!!" before he broke off in another fit of coughing.

"Brandy mixed with water." Roderic didn't sound exactly contrite for not telling him before. "It's working. Your face is beginning to regain some of its color."

Edward took another drink from the flask, but only a cautious sip this time and he had to admit the heat blossoming in his stomach felt good. It raced through his veins and he felt a bit more like himself, but when he tried to stand up, he found out the brandy didn't give him any energy. His knees trembled and they buckled again, he slipped back into a sitting postion and sat there with his legs sprawled. Elrics don't give up that easily, so Edward gritted his teeth and made a third attempt, but never got any further than on his knees. Damp mud oozed moisture through his pants legs and a shiver spasmed through him. He looked west and saw the sun hovering just over the horizon behind thin clouds. It would be dark in about an hour and Alphonse still needed to be taken to a hospital.

"Stop, Edward, stop. You haven't any strength left." Roderic advised.

"Colonel Elric? Will you let me try?" Trinity knelt down next to Edward and she laid a hand gently on his left shoulder.

"Okay." Edward didn't have the energy to argue or to finish the job. "You know what to do?"

"Of course!" Trinity scolded with mock irritation. "I AM an Eldritch, after all!"

She stood back up and tripped over to the disabled truck like a little girl. She pulled the array-pendant from inside her collar and held it to one of the naked metal supports. A reddish light flared to life after she touched two fingers to the array and the support began to ripple and soften. One end detached itself and waved in the air, then flopped to the ground and came weaving from side to side, like a very long metal snake. Edward watched it begin to lace itself from side to side underneath the stretcher until Alphonse was supported by an open framework of glowing metal. After Roderic nodded once at her as if approving her work, she ended the transmuation. The metal solidified back to gray, looking as if it had always been there.

"Very nice bit of work there, Miss Eldritch." Ian smiled at her before he caught Amelia's eye. "Agent Dasher, let's get young Mr. Alphonse to hospital!"

"Hold on!" Roderic held up one hand. "I have a better idea, Colonel Bond. My estate at Bishopscourt Hille has a specially made healing array. If it's all right with his elder brotehr, I would like you to take Alphonse there instead."

"That's a very good idea, Colonel Bond," Amelia looked anxiously at the setting sun. "It'll be dark soon and I can't fly the gyrocopter after sunset"

All three looked inquiringly at Edward who just nodded tiredly but said nothing.

"You can be there before darkness sets in. I hope you and Agent Dasher will be my guests for the evening, I have plenty of extra bedrooms. Then you can set off back for Londonium as soon as the sun is up."

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It sounded like a plan.

Amelia, with Ian and Roderic as her passengers took off in the gyrocopter. Edward watched the machine rise up and he was glad to see the metal netting underneath Alphonse holding firm. It stopped a hundred feet up and hovered for a moment before turning in a half circle and heading off in a south easterly direction. Edward followed more slowly with the other Eldritches, somehow he managed to crawl into the saddle with help from Rudolfus. His feet found the stirrups and he said "Take me home, Trinket" in a quiet voice. He kept the reins loose and the mare nickered softly before she took the bit and began to walk out of the clearing. He must have fallen asleep more than once because he woke up to see the sun was suddenly at the horizon and tinting the clouds red with its dying rays.

"Sailor's delight is a red sky at night." somebody said and that was the last thing Edward remembered for a while. He came to himself a second time to discover night had finally drawn over New Britain. The clouds had cleared out and what looked like thousands of stars winked down from a sky like black velvet. It was then Edward realized his body had finally figured out how to post while he was asleep, his limp muscles moved easily back and forth as Trinket walked.

Then they crested a small hill and there was the Eldritch estate, Bishopscourt Hille. Edward couldn't see much in the dark except the main house was very large and looked like a crenallated fortress. The many blocks of side buildings, their windows glowing with welcoming light, gave the effect of a small city. But what really caught his attention was a domed two story affair smack in the middle oddle of the compound. Blue light streamed from high windows and he knew immediately that was the site of the healing array.

He couldn't wait to see Alphonse.

The horses increased the pace of their walk and Edward had to pay stricter attention to his posting after Trinket broke into a trot, it was a gentle gait but it still shook his bones. He tried to concentrate on getting his hips to move in rhythm, but before he knew it, the soft thump of hooves on dirt was replaced by a loud clattering after they passed under an archway into a cobblestoned stable block. Trinket veered left and stopped next to a short flight of concrete stairs with a railing, Edward wasn't sure what it was but he was grateful to be able to dismount without feeling for the ground. Someone took Trinket's reins and led her away, while a young woman in a long dress took Edward by the elbow and steered him across the stable block. She opened a wooden door and led him into the house.

////////////////////////////////

Ten minutes later, he stood underneath a pulsing shower head that sluiced the dried mud and sweat off his skin and the soreness from his muscles. He scrubbed every inch he could reach with a long-handled boar bristle brush which made him feel his skin was beilng flayed off inch by inch. After that, he chose a bottle of shampoo from the small arsenal in the shower enclosure and washed his hair three times, then massaged in a large dollop of conditioner. When he emerged from the shower, his skin was pink from scrubbing and the heat of the water. Steam floated in the air and fogged the mirror so Edward didn't find the small mountain of fluffy white towels laid on the dressing table until he was almost on top of them.

There came a knock on the bedroom door, but before Edward could respond, a muffled voice called out that fresh clothes were laid out on the bed. He dried his body off quickly, and after wrapping a towel around his head, Edward opened the bathroom door and peeked out. Cooler air rushed in and goose pimples raced up his left arm, so he made a beeline for the bed. The pants legs and the shirt sleeves were a bit long, but he rolled them up out of his way and appreciated the warmth of the wool socks he pulled on. He returned to the bathroom to carefully dry his automail and then his hair. A comb and brush were set out and he spent several minutes working out any snarls before re-tying his ponytail. He was still tired, but the shower and clean clothes had made a world of difference in his mood.

Someone knocked on the outer bedroom door and it opened halfway before Ian popped his head in. "Hullo, Edward. Feeling better?"

"Very much, but..." The question was on Edward's tongue and he blurted it out. "How is Al?"

"He's much better too." The spymaster let his lips relax into a genuine smile that reached his brown eyes. "I was allowed to watch and what alchemy can do is amazing! Roderic says your brother's internal injuries and broken bones are mostly healed and he's stable enough to complete his recuperation here. Unless you really want to transferr him to hospital tomorrow."

"Can I see him?" The news lifted a large weight was lifted off Edward's shoulders and he took a deep, cleansing breath. The bedroom seemed brighter, the flames crackling in the tiled fireplace were cheerier and - his stomach grumbled loudly. It hadn't been fed since that morning and it reminded him with sharp hunger pangs. Edward scowled briefly when Ian chuckled.

"Roderic says not tonight. Alphonse is comfortable and he will likely sleep until tomorrow afternoon at least." He looked back as footsteps were heard just outside the door. "Ah, here is our escort to the dining room."

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In hindsight, Edward felt an escort was a good idea because he and Ian could have easily gotten lost in the twisting corridors. Roderic had sent two middle-aged women to accopany them and they looked alike as peas in a pod: long blonde hair intricately curled framing oval faces and deep-set yellow eyes. One was very gregarious and twittered on at length about how successive masters of Bishopscourt Hille had added on and demolished throughout the centuries. "The very core of the building was a residence and ecclesiastical court for the first half dozen Christian bishops who led the church after the religion was brought to New Britain. That's how the house got it's name - Court-of-the-Bishops-in-the-Hills, therefore Bishopscourt Hille."

Her companion was more taciturn and merely smiled while the other prattled away, never letting anyone else get a word in edgewise. She seemed resigned to her fate and gave Edward and Ian sympathetic looks alternated with shrugs or eye rolling while the lecture went on. Even the voluble Pratchett Wodehouse would have trouble speaking over this one, Edward thought wryly. But just as that thought crossed his mind, they passed under a pointed Gothic arch and entered the dining room.

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Dinner was soup was a large steaming bowl of New British Cheddar and preceded roast beef in gravy served with baked potatoes and a medly of steamed vegetables. Edward cleaned off his plate with gusto and he could happily eaten more. The main course was followed with something called ladyfingers and cream. Two pairs of the cookies were stuck together with chocolate and covered with a rich cream and then a sort of raspberry gel was piped onto the plate around them. At first,Edward was able to make light conversation with Roderic and other members of the family, but the names and faces began to blur halfway through the meal. His head was starting to droop as dessert was served.

Roderic himself escorted him, Ian and Amelia back to their bedrooms. Even though the time was only eight thirty pm, both the spymaster and his agent planned to go straight to bed because they wanted to return to Londonium soon after sunrise. Edward stumbled across the threshold of his bedroom and he saw someone had turned back the covers and laid a long nightshirt over a screen by the fireplace to warm. It took everything Edward had just to clean his teeth with the provided brush and tooth powder as he was running on fumes now. He returned to the bedroom and undressed, casually tossing the clothes onto a large tapestry chair, but he left the socks on. The nightshirt was very long and it reached to the floor, obliging him to pick up the hem in order to avoid stumbling over it. "Hello, nice bed" he muttered sleepily while he crawled into the huge four poster which creaked slightly as if returning his greeting.

He had more than enough blankets to keep him warm and sighed with contentment after they were all pulled up. His head sunk into a soft white pillow, like a giant marshmallow and all he had to do was reach out one arm to flip the switch on a bedside lamp. The room plunged into almost darkness, lit only by the fitfull glow of the banked and screened fire and Edward plunged into a deep and nearly dreamless sleep.

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Half a mile from Bishopscourt Hille, Sister Janette looked through a pair of binoculars as lights winked out in most of the windows. She and a few of the most dedicated Christianists had eluded the dragnet set up by the Royal Anti-Terrorism Force and fled into the wooded hills around their compound. There they hid under camouflaged blankets until after dark when they crept out. It wasn't pleasant sleeping on damp ground with only a few blankets, but the Christianists were used to rough living and survival techniques in the wild were routine teaching since she'd been a child.

The day which had begun so sacred had turned into a shambles. The first burning had barely begun when the forces of Satan had descended upopn them and saved half of the alchemists. The transfer of the second group of sinners - mostly witches and wizards but also some foreign alchemists they'd kidnapped - began late due to engine troubles. After she'd made a final atempt to convert Alphonse, Janette had ridden along in the truck to the second Burning Ground, intent on making yet one more try. "The Lord is strong within Sister Janette . She will fight with every fiber of her being to save straying souls from Satan's grasp." said the truck driver, but he could have spoken for all of them. Sure they would succeed, they lustily sang hymms all the way.

She was on first watch at the end of the valley when the walkie-talkie crackled with news of the debacle. A black hatred seethed within her as she heard her informer cry out in protest when she was arrested. Janette began to cry and walked several yards away from the others. She started reading her Holy Book for crumbs of comfort when at one point she looked up into the sky just in time to see the gyrocopter.

"They've found us!"

Just as she'd feared, here came more sinners to free their fellows. Janette recognized Edward after the group knelt down to perform their dark art and the sight made her blood run cold. He stood defiant before her Lord and she wished she'd had a gun to send that sinner to Hell. Janette wanted so badly to set the souls of Alphonse and the others free, but it wasn't going to happen and she knew when to cut her losses.

Janette huddled, shivering in her thin blanket and glared at the lights of Bishopscourt Hille. The defilement of that holy place filled her with bitterness, but she had a plan to cleanse it. Her anger and disappointment were felt by everyone with her and also by her Lord. Let the sinenrs live comfortably for a little while longer, but soon the children of God would visit His wrath upon them.


	35. Chapter 35

**And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA, just the OCs I've created for this story. I like to play around in its world and annoy the canon characters for while.

**Warnings:** Bad language and violence. Seriously, there are a few bits of really gnarly words, dude. You've been warned.

**Author's note:** More flashbacks of the Elric's long, bad trip in our world. Plus, the brothers and the Eldritch clan gird for battle.

**Word count:** 12,846 (yowza!)

**Beta: **Took-baggins

_Chapter 35_: In which brothers re-connect and some reminiscing of times best forgotten is done.

His mind was sunk deep into a silent dimension. A silence so profound nothing disturbed the smooth surface. Then a ripple blew across it, like wind over water, but it faded away into nothing. Another ripple came and faded, and then a third, before its predecessor disappeared completely. The ripples came ever faster and before long, the surface was roiling like a pot of water over a high flame.

He became conscious of little things: the tingle of aches, a crackling noise, and a strange sound which began as a deep rumbling that abruptly changed to a higher pitch before subsiding. He was very comfortable where he was, sunk deep into a soft oblivion, but he could no longer ignore those outside disturbances. They drew him upward, like he was a swimmer rising to the surface of a deep lake.

Alphonse finally opened his eyes an inch, and then closed them before he opened them fully. He blinked several times because the lids felt crusted, he wanted to brush the sleep away, but his hands seemed to be trapped. Alphonse willed his right hand into motion and it moved obediently until the fingers touched his chin and crawled up his face. He'd barely begun to brush small crumbs of sleep away when he stopped when the realization struck him.

_My eyes are open!_

Alphonse looked straight up to see a billowing dark blue sky studded with yellow stars right above him. But the stars didn't look right and Alphonse realized they were too yellow, Plus they didn't shimmer like proper stars should, and not until more consciousness returned did he figure out the "sky" was fabric and the "stars" were embroidered upon it. A matching comforter covered him up to his chin and his head rested softly atop two fluffy pillows over stuffed with feathers.

A cheery fire burning inside a hearth of blue-glazed brick was making the crackling sound and sending out waves of warmth at him. A weak grayish light poured in past the panes of a large bay window, low clouds proclaimed a dreary day with rain threatening. When the deep rumbling noise rose in pitch again, Alphonse grunted with effort and raised his head to see where the sound was coming from.

Edward was sprawled out, fast asleep in a large leather wing chair set close to the bed and he couldn't help but smile at the sight. Edward's body was set sideways, legs over one chair arm, his head nestled against the opposite wing A book was held loosely in his limp right hand, one automail finger between the pages to hold his place.. His mouth was wide open as he snored and a trickle of drool ran down from the left corner.

"Brother." Alphonse's voice could barely be heard over the racket Edward was making. He looked tired and Alphonse decided against calling a second time. Brother needed his sleep and inside, sleep was pulling at Alphonse's eyelids so he relaxed back against the pillows, turned his head away from the fire and drifted back off into the dark, warm silence.

Edward woke up with a snort barely thirty seconds later, feeling stupid with sleep; he blinked rapidly and smacked his lips. He'd thought he'd heard Al speaking, _I must have dreamt it_ he thought while he wiped the drool off his chin with his left sleeve. He set the book aside and leaned over closer to Al's head. His brother was deeply asleep, his right hand lay atop the comforter. Careful not to wake him, Edward lifted the hand and slid it back underneath the covering. Alphonse grumbled something inaudible and shifted in the bed to lie on his left side. Edward smiled indulgently before he reached over and brushed the bangs out of Alphonse's eyes. "Sleep well, little brother."

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The room was darker, with shadows gathering in the corners and spreading out across the ceiling when Alphonse woke up again. Wind soughed plaintively in the chimney and rain beat against the now-curtained window, like countless ghostly fingers tapping. Edward was kneeling in front of the fireplace, setting a log onto the fire with his automail hand. Winry would have yelled blue murder, and thrown a wrench if she'd been there to see him getting soot on her handiwork. The leaping flames sent alternating bursts of light and shadow across his face, He looked to be at peace, but the skin around his yellow eyes seemed stretched too tight.

Edward turned gracefully at the waist to select another log from a basket piled high with wood and he set that one on the fire, pushing it back with his right hand, and a brass poker held in his left. He smiled and nodded once as if satisfied before he replaced the fireplace screen, a large three-paneled one of blackened iron with brass hinges and accents. Then, he just sat there and stared into the flames, as if mesmerized.

The chair he'd fallen asleep in during the afternoon was now occupied by a dark-haired girl with yellow eyes. She was dressed casually in black pants and an oversized long sleeved blue sweater apparently made for a much larger person. She was intently reading a book in the glow of a brass reading lamp set to the left of the chair. The girl lifted the book slightly as she turned a page and Alphonse saw the title, The Principles of Calculus As They Relate to Alchemy. He raised one eyebrow in admiring surprise and ventured what he thought was a clever remark.

"That's heavy reading!"

The girl gasped and she nearly dropped the book before she recovered her grip upon it. She stared at Alphonse with a startled golden gaze before she blushed suddenly and giggled, a high pitched sound, but not obnoxiously so. Alphonse thought it was really quite charming, but he stopped when on the verge of saying so due to an abrupt attack of shyness. He'd become more interested in girls since returning to the alchemic world, but speaking to them was a problem. His tongue would conveniently glue itself to the roof of his mouth while his brain went blank and stubbornly refused to give him a word beyond "Hi".

So he settled for widening his initial smile and was gratified to see her blush deepen to an attractive dark shade and spread up from her chin to her forehead. He decided she was definitely one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen, especially when she smiled back, the corners of her lips pulled back gently in a motion that seemed as natural as breathing. _What about Lexie?_ His conscience chided from the back of his brain, but Alphonse's inner voice sternly told his conscience to shut up and chill out.

A stifled sound came from the direction of the fireplace; Edward was watching and smothering his laugh with one hand. It was easy for him to poke fun at Alphonse's "girl watching"; Edward was completely and utterly in love with Winry Rockbell. Oh, he would turn and stare, like any red-blooded Amestrian male at a pair of shapely legs, a firm bottom, or a large bosom when Winry wasn't there. Even if she was, Edward still would look, only more subtly, but Alphonse noted that Winry never made an issue of it. She would just smile knowingly because she knew other women might get Edward's attention, but he'd given his heart to her and her alone.

This didn't stop Alphonse from loving and caring about Winry, she was his closest friend, almost like a sister. But he'd stolen her first kiss when he was just three and two years later had beaten his older brother in a fight to determine who would marry her. He'd won those battles, but Alphonse didn't begrudge losing the war to Edward. Once those two stopped being so kicking mule stubborn about acknowledging their love, a proper wedding would follow swiftly. Alphonse just hoped that happy event wouldn't take too long because lately he'd been feeling the stirrings of an urge to be an uncle.

"Al!" Edward's voice cut through the pleasant fantasy of teaching blond and yellow-eyed nieces and nephews about the Glory That Are Cats, deflating it like a balloon. He rose from his crouch in front of the fire and Alphonse blushed himself, hoping he didn't have a dopey "Al is daydreaming again!" look on his face. Edward sunk to his knees right against the bed, his face slightly reddened from the fires heat, his lips curved in a huge smile and joy dancing in his yellow eyes. Alphonse levered himself a little higher on his elbows and their foreheads touched, so closely, he could feel Edward's eyelashes.

"Brother!"

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It was half an hour later that two more people entered the bedroom. First, a buxom woman with short and curly iron gray hair, and wearing a plain green and white checked dress walked in through the opened door. Her hands carried a tray with a bowl of something steaming hot set on its surface. She was followed by a tall, well built man who bore a strong resemblance to a lion in his facial features. His long blond hair, with a few streaks of white in it was caught back in a lush pony tail, and he had narrow yellow eyes which didn't miss a detail of the room. He stopped only a few steps into the room and caught Trinity's eye. His head moved in an almost imperceptible nod and the girl closed her book, stood up, and followed him out of the room.

Alphonse didn't remember his father too well and pretty much knew him only from the few photographs that Pinako had mounted in the Rockbell family album. But the resemblance was strong enough this man could have been Hohenheim's twin. Edward helped Alphonse sit up in bed and arranged the pillows behind him in a supportive bolster. He leaned back comfortably as the woman set the tray on the bed and then flipped down two folding legs before she set it over his lap.

A shallow, but wide bowl of chicken noodle soup was the trays centerpiece, with lots of wide curly noodles and generous chunks of white meat chicken floating in a dark yellow broth. The steam swirling over its surface smelled divine, but it also signaled the soup was far too hot to eat yet. The bowl was flanked by a silver soup spoon on one side and on the other was a smaller china bowl which contained crackers. Alphonse picked up the spoon and stirred the soup experimentally, and closed his eyes against the clouds of warm steam. He set the spoon back down and aimed a shy smile at the woman.

"Thank you". He noted she had dark blue eyes that narrowed to slits, and deep crow's feet stretched the skin when she smiled back at him. This close up, Alphonse could see she was quite a bit older than he'd first estimated, but her eyes sparkled and her face radiated energy. Advancing years hadn't seemed to slow her down, but he didn't get a chance to speak to her any further after she bowed to him and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Alphonse stirred the soup once more before he cautiously blew on it and took a tiny sip. "Argh!" He dropped the spoon back into the bowl, causing a small amount of the soup to splash out of the bowl and onto the wide rim. "Oh, my tongue! I burnt my tongue!" Edward picked up a glass carafe that had a subtle bluish tinge and poured a bit of water into a matching glass. He picked it up off the bedside table with his left hand as the glass was so delicate; he feared it would shatter if he so much as breathed on it.

Alphonse grabbed it with both hands and drank the water gratefully with a loud, sucking gulp. "Ah! That hit the spot, Brother."

He held the cool glass against his forehead and pressed his back into the comfortable pillows. Despite his best efforts to compose himself, tears began to leak out from under his closed eyelids. "I was afraid you wouldn't come in time,. Brother. I could feel the heat of the flames coming closer and closer, and I thought I was done for this time. Then the heat stopped, and I thought I heard you calling my name."

Alphonse opened his dark brown eyes wide again and he blinked several times, in an effort to stop the tears, but they kept coming, rolling down his cheeks faster than before. Edward grabbed the tray and set it on the bedside table before he crawled further on to the bed and gathered his little brother into his arms. He ruffled Alphonse's already mussed caramel colored hair before murmuring, "Let it all out, Al."

He grabbed the front of Edward's shirt in both hands and buried his face into the material before he burst out in loud, ragged sobs. His shoulders shook convulsively while he cried, the sound thankfully muffled by Edward's shirt which was rapidly becoming soaked. Edward's arms wove tighter around Alphonse's shuddering body, his right hand rubbing the boy's back in a comforting circular pattern. Nonsense words of warmth tumbled from his lips. "It's OK to admit you were scared, Al. The Christianists are a strong poison, but you are stronger."

This statement seemed to help Alphonse regain control of himself and his sobs became quieter and slowed to a few juddering sniffs. Edward ruffled his hair again and lightly kissed his forehead right at the hairline.

"EWW!" Alphonse jerked back as if Edward's lips had burned him and his mobile young face scrunched up in disgust. "That's gross, Brother! Don't do it again!"

The moment was over and Edward just looked perplexed and a little bit hurt. "What's with you, Al?" Alphonse stopped scrubbing and opened one eye to mock-glare at his brother. "Kissing me,Brother! It's just - creepy - at our ages!"

The blond huffed in exasperation, "Would you prefer it if I just punched your shoulder from now on?"

"You wouldn't dare hit an invalid!" Alphonse yelped in a display of faked outrage when Edward leaned closer and unleashed a leer which made the younger Elric's skin crawl. "I could just tickle you till you wet the bed, like I did when we were little."

Alphonse's scowl deepened until he suddenly realized that Edward, in his own weird way, was just yanking his chain to cheer him up.

"Brother, what did those people in the machine world do to you the first time?" Alphonse's expression became curious and he cocked his head before giving Edward a searching stare. When they traveled together in the machine world after beating back the Great Invasion of Central, Edward had told him a lot about his lonely and lost two years there. But Alphonse felt there were some experiences Edward was still keeping locked away in his mind. Alphonse did feel a little hurt by this, but his rational self told him he was being selfish for wanting to know every tiny detail, just as there were some things too painful to tell Edward.

A knock sounded on the door and Eldritch, who'd gratefully not interrupted the brothers, held up one finger as if to say 'hold that thought' before he moved to admit the newcomers. Two more women entered, neither was the lady who'd brought the soup. One woman carried a steaming bowl of water and she was followed closely by a second woman who held a small pile of fluffy towels.

"Is that more soup?" Alphonse asked hopefully and Edward shot him a look, but Alphonse simply grinned in response.

Both women were blonde and yellow-eyed, and dressed in simple shift dresses with short sleeves, one blue, and one green. Their resemblance to Edward and to the older man was a bit disconcerting to Alphonse, but they gave him such friendly smiles, he decided to set his feelings aside. The second woman went over to the far side of the room and came back with a tray table with long legs for the other woman to set the bowl upon. From his position sitting on the side of the bed, Edward could see a cake of soap and wash cloth already floating in the warm water.

"What is that?" Alphonse craned his neck like a curious kitten, trying to see around Edward. The sense he was somehow being ambushed kept prickling at the back of his mind.

A smirk crawled its way across Edward's face, one that rearranged his features into a distinctly devilish look, and he shot an evil grin at Alphonse. "Someone is going to get a bath."

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Half an hour later, Alphonse was clean and dressed in a fresh nightshirt; he leaned back comfortably against the pillows while Edward fed him the now-cooled soup. The sponge bath wasn't the most pleasant of experiences, but the two women had been so sweet about it, and Alphonse had to admit he felt better once the dried blood, mud and sweat was cleaned away. The edges of his ears were slightly pink from the indignity of being seen naked by complete strangers, and spoon fed by his brother.

"I'm not a baby," he'd muttered mutinously in a sour undertone, but at the edge of his mind, Alphonse thought the pampering felt strangely satisfying.

Edward scooped the last bit of soup from the bowl and the sound of metal scraping china was like fingernails down a blackboard, so Alphonse winced before he scowled at his brother for the second time that day.

"C'mon Al, the airplane is flying into the hangar! ZOOOMMM!" Edward aimed the spoon and made a poor imitation of an engine sound with his lips and tongue. "Open the doors, Al," he crooned, but Alphonse clamped his lips together before he made a soft _humph!_ of exasperation deep in his throat.

A low noise caught the attention of the brothers just then, and they looked curiously at the source. The tall blond man had returned to the room during the latter stages of the sponge bath. After Alphonse was re-dressed, he's dropped casually into the leather wing chair and watched the Elrics interact. Now he was laughing at them, like a zoo visitor amused by the antics of monkeys. The patriarch of the Eldritch family was dressed casually in an oversized yellow shirt of a soft, buttery fabric, and snug black drawstring pants that still draped gracefully over his legs. His long legs were propped on the beds footboard, but even dressed down and relaxed; he still had a touch of the leonine majesty Edward had seen yesterday.

Forgetting about Alphonse for the moment, Edward stuck the spoon in his mouth, and swallowed, grimacing at the thick taste of the now cold soup,

"Isn't family wonderful, Colonel Elric?" His voice was pleasantly modulated, each syllable precisely drawn out, not too much, nor too little; but just the right amount. Edward recognized the same speech pattern as Ian's. The master's voice, the tone of someone born to rule, someone highly educated in New Britain's public schools on the proper way to assert that authority. Yet nothing in Roderic's tone or his smile seemed mocking to poor Amestrian boys who were born and raised in a small village more famous for sheep than its alchemy. They hadn't even completed their studies in the small open air school, instead Edward and Alphonse finished their education in the unaccredited school of hard knocks.

A tiny frisson of pride made Edward raise his chin a bit higher; maybe he hadn't gone to a fancy-schmancy school established hundreds of years ago, but he'd experienced things most other alchemists could only dream about. Even this alchemist who sat so casually before him, but Roderic's next words confused Edward because they were such a complete one-eighty from what he'd expected Roderic to say.

"I have six sisters; three older and three younger", Roderic continued in a mild, conversational tone, his yellow gaze direct, yet also friendly. "There were the bane of my childhood, and I used to dream up complicated transmutations to play not-so-practical jokes on them. But I quickly learned they were also talented alchemists in their own right and they returned the 'favours' with interest. This sibling rivalry degenerated into open warfare between us, and I think it's why my parents packed me off to boarding school by my eighth year. Of course, we'd just take up where we left off when I came home on school breaks." He spread his hands out in a lazy gesture and smiled sheepishly. "Somehow, we all made it to adulthood without bloodshed or loss of limbs and you know what?"

Neither Elric replied and Roderic continued to dominate the conversational thread. "Now I realize they are the best sisters in the world and I wouldn't trade any of them for a million pounds." He beamed a brilliantly white smile at both of them before taking his feet off the footboard; the smile vanished and his eyes took on a distinctly sly gleam, as if he was about to tell them some astonishing secret.

"Some little birds have told me the woods around Bishopscourt Hille have eyes and are watching us avidly; a group of perhaps twenty people. Probably the only Christianists who escaped the dragnet of the Royal Anti-Terrorism force, and the local constabulary."

"Um," Alphonse broke in just then. "Shouldn't we call them back?"

"It's too late, Alphonse. They've already cut the phone lines and we're completely isolated. I could send someone out on horseback, but that would be tantamount to handing down a death sentence to whoever is the messenger. These people are the really true believers, the most cunning, resourceful and violent bastards you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. In their minds, God wants them to slaughter all of us, and only spilling the blood of nonbelievers like us will please Him."

Alphonse sucked in his breath and even Edward swallowed hard. He fixed Roderic with a stern glare, but the watched man didn't seem discomfited. "You seem awfully - relaxed about the whole thing," but Roderic merely favored Edward with a brief smile, unless he was just baring very white teeth in a snarl. "You are right to be wary, Edward, but we know a few things they don't."

"Such as?" Edward arched his left eyebrow higher, and Alphonse matched the gesture, but with his right.

"They think they are well concealed, but we know where they are, plus their numbers and weaponry. We also know what part of the manor they will attempt to gain entry, and which direction they will take once inside."

Roderic paused to let that sink in while he took a deep breath. "What they do not know is we will direct their path, a path that leads straight to Hell."

Both Edward and Alphonse digested and processed information quickly and they came to a matching conclusion.

"You can't kill them!" Alphonse burst out, his voice high with stress; he was almost jumping out of his skin with emotion. "That's making you just as bad as they are!" Roderic scowled briefly as his eyes turned cold and hard, now he looked like an intent lion stalking its prey just before it made the final rush.

"You're worried about Sister Janette, aren't you, Alphonse?" Roderic ground the words out like salt rubbed into the boy's wounds; Alphonse gasped aloud as if he'd been punched in the stomach. "Let me assure you, boy, that woman is not worth your pity. That gentle treatment she gave you is all outside varnish. Inside, she's mean as a snake; once you refused to convert, she switched off the milk and honey just like THAT." He snapped his fingers with a bone cracking sound so loud Alphonse jumped fully an inch off the bed.

In Edward's opinion, the older man had suddenly made a considerable rise in his personal appraisal; because Edward had learned this painful lesson the hard way. Pity and mercy are fine in some cases, but in a 'kill or be killed' situation, they can become a fatal mistake.

"But", Alphonse floundered with indecision. "Can't we just capture them and turn them over to the police?"

"This particular group of Christianists is a major threat to the peace of New Britain, Alphonse" The harsh light in Roderic's eyes softened - just a little. "The authorities will promptly deport them back to Meso-America to face Incan justice. A justice a thousand times worse than what I have planned."

The fine hairs at the back of Edward's neck stood up at full attention when Roderick said this. He'd either seen or heard about unpleasant ways to die in his years with the military and in the machine world. What could be worse than having one's head imploded by the destruction alchemy of Scar, for example?

"They will get a trial of course, but the Emperor of Meso-America is the head justice and verdicts of 'guilty' are certain. On the day appointed for their execution, they will be dressed in knee length white tunics and led up a long flight of stairs to a stone slab. The priests of Quetzalcoatl will give them a ceremonial drink as part of the ritual; it will numb their senses, unless they are foolish enough to refuse it."

Alphonse was visibly shaking by now and Edward put a calming hand on his shoulder, but he could still feel the vibrations all the way up his flesh arm. What Roderic was saying was truly horrible, yet he couldn't help but to listen.

"The head priest will speak an incantation to get the attention of their god, Quetzalcoatl and won't start the executions until he, or it, has arrived. Then he takes a sharp knife and cuts out the heart and offers it up, still beating, to him. The god doesn't have a mouth, per se, so he can't drain the blood, or eat the heart. But I am assured Quetzalcoatl enjoys the "essence" of the heart."

"Enjoys?" Edward could barely get the words out through stiff lips, and was embarrassed to hear his voice squeak. "You talk as if you actually witnessed this!"

"Yes, I did, about thirty years ago as the personal guest of the Incan Emperor, Montezuma XXVII. It was a sight I will never forget as long as I live; it was barbarous and yet strangely beautiful. The Meso-Americans made even you Amestrians seem sophisticated, and that's quite a feat." Edward didn't know whether to smile and agree with Roderic, or get angry and punch him in the face. The moment passed while he was trying to decide and Roderic was speaking again. "I was never so glad when the ship docked at the Londonium Wharf and I practically ran down that gangplank to touch New British soil again."

Roderic's lips had twitched up while he reminisced, but that smile quickly disappeared again. "That is why it's best we put a stop to this right here and now." He fixed Alphonse with a revival of his cold stare. "Yes, Alphonse, we will kill Sister Janette and the other Christianists, there's no way to sugarcoat that. But it will be quick and painless so they won't suffer. And that," Roderic got to his feet, "is the best we can do."

"Edward, I've set up alchemic guards to protect Alphonse, plus several family members skilled in combat - alchemic and traditional - will be with him at all times until this is over." Edward didn't reply immediately, but he nodded once in gratitude of Roderic's concern about his brother.

Alphonse made a low, unhappy noise in his throat and he whispered urgently the minute Roderic opened the door of the room. "Brother!" his voice came out in a sibilant hiss, but Edward just shook his head, silencing his protest until the door closed firmly with a soft thud. Alphonse was not a coward, but he'd always tried to find a way to avoid killing another human being. Even on the occasions that person was bent on ending his life.

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_January,1925_

The brothers had endured a lot of undignified treatment over the years, but none as bad as the trunk of that car. The ride was interminably long and Edward suspected the driver chose the roughest roads on purpose. The jostling and shaking caused his already sore head to either hit the trunk floor, or connect with Alphonse's head umpteen times. The resultant headache was making him rather cranky.

Suddenly, the sound of the cars motor changed from a steady hum to a staccato sputter and back again. Edward felt rather than heard the driver pumping the gas pedal, but the engine just sputtered more before it began to groan and cough a few times. Then, it died abruptly and the car glided slower and slower before it stopped with a very hard jerk when the brakes were applied.

There was complete and utter silence for a moment, then one voice began cursing lividly to the point Edward was tempted to clap his hands over Alphonse's tender ears. Another voice broke in, and soon a fierce argument was taken place before two doors opened with slight squeaks and slammed shut simultaneously. Footsteps crunched on gravel as the voices continued their argument towards the rear of the car. Edward first flinched, and then he braced himself when he heard a key scraping in the trunks lock. Muscles tensed when the lid slowly rose, allowing in a glimmer of grayish light and some welcome fresh air.

The lid suddenly shot almost straight up all the way and as dim as it was, the light was blinding after the near total darkness of the trunk. Edward bolted forward, despite the protests of cramped and cold muscles. But he still was too slow, for something solid slammed into his head in the next instant, causing stars of pain to explode and obscure his vision. Two pairs of hands shoved him back into the trunk and he landed hard on his side, half on top of Alphonse who uttered a bark of surprise.

Edward held his throbbing head and writhed with the white hot pain that buzzed like a hive of angry bees in his ears. His skull felt like it was split in two; something warm and wet trickled down his forehead, a bit of it stung his eyes and his nose identified the coppery odor of blood. His mouth confirmed the tang a moment later when it ran over his lips and his tongue ran out reflexively to lick them.

"Did that hurt, Shambalan?" One of the men inquired in a put-on falsetto tone that slipped into a more normal _basso_ that brooked no argument. "Remember the pain next time you are tempted to step out of line!"

The other man reached into the trunk and rummaged around briefly next to them before he stood up with a red metal can in one hand and grinned at the pair. The one who'd spoken slammed the trunk lid shut with enough force to make the car rock on its springs. They could be heard walking away and laughing at Edward, and he felt a sort of fury arise in his chest. He interspersed "ow" and German curse words under his breath and Alphonse reached out to touch him, but recoiled when his fingers felt the warm blood.

"Brother! They hurt you!" Alphonse reached between the layers of clothing he wore and dug around before he came up with a large square of white cloth, an old handkerchief. He folded it into a thick pad and pressed it to Edward's forehead where he guessed the blood was coming from. Edward hissed between his teeth and spat out another round of German curse words.

"Ah,those motherfuckers! That hurt, Al!"

"What did he hit you with, Brother?"

"It felt like a lead pipe, but I think it was just a pistol barrel." He winced again and cursed at a high volume.

"Language, Brother, language!" Alphonse burst out as if shocked. Swearing offended his sensibilities and Edward tried to control himself by pinching his lips shut and fisting the thin trunk carpet with his left hand. He tried to control his temper, but rational thought was very difficult when he was so angry.

"Al, we have to get out of here! Those goons have gone for petrol, so this will be our only chance. Waiting till we get to Munich will be too late!"

But escaping the trunk the usual way wasn't possible, which meant there was only one other way. "I'm going to need your help for this, Al."

"What are you planning, Brother?" Alphonse asked in a voice tight with suspicion.

"The only other way out of this trunk is through the passenger compartment, so we have to move the back seat out of the way." Edward grunted with effort as he twisted around until his back was to Alphonse. "Brace me, Al."

Alphonse also turned around, so he was back to back with Edward, and put his hands and feet against the trunk lid. It wasn't easy with all the clothing layers he wore, but Edward drew his knees up to his chest, and then took a deep breath.

"Ready, Brother!"

Edward kicked out as hard as he could against the back of the passenger compartment. The shock traveled up his legs and made his aching head throb some more. The barely clotted cut on his forehead began a sluggish trickle of blood, but Edward drew his knees up again and kicked out a second time, even harder. The thuds came monotonously, in a regular rhythm, but the seat backs never budged, as more blood ran down along with sweat to sting his eyes.

He started to feel angry again and he let it build, to flow hotly through his veins and re-energize his burning leg muscles. He took one more deep breath and unleashed a flurry of ten extremely hard kicks. He gasped for breath after the last, his heart thudded between his ribs and his head felt ready to burst apart. The air of the trunk was getting stuffy and Edward realized he was feeling the symptoms of oxygen debt. "Brother," Alphonse said quietly, "rest for a bit and let me work on it."

Edward groaned and gathered himself, his leg muscles was close to cramping up and sweat poured uncomfortably down his face and back. He wanted to quit, but he couldn't do it, this was his duty as the older brother. He had to try just a few more kicks, and he drew his knees up again.

"Brother?"

"Just a few more tries, Al. Just a few more tries." Edward assured him in a weak voice, but what he really wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep off this exhaustion. He kicked and paused, then kicked again. "Dammit!" He pulled his knees even more tightly against his chest and let the anger bubble through his veins, then kicked out with gusto in a flurry of four hard blows.

The seats shifted, ever so slightly after the last, and thus, encouraged, Edward lashed out several more times. The seats gave a little more with each push. Cold air rushed into the trunk and the brothers gulped it in greedily to their grateful lungs.

Once the gap was large enough, Edward crawled forward and pushed, his body writhing for purchase. The seats gave way even more and he pulled his way into the front passenger seat. The door latch opened obediently after he pressed down on it, and he stepped out of the car, Alphonse right behind him. They were finally free - and completely lost.

Edward stood next to the car and turned around in a complete circle, reveling in the wide open spaces. The trunk was uncomfortably claustrophobic compared to this. They were on a lonely country road in the middle of nowhere. Except for a derelict old barn across the road from the car, there was no other close sign of human habitation. A cold wind blew under an overcast January sky, the clouds had no end and only a slightly lighter patch showed where the sun burned impotently behind them. He shivered briefly before going to the cars side view mirror and checking the re-clotting gash on his forehead. He looked a sight; dried blood plastered his bangs down to his forehead and formed an ugly red trickle down to his chin where it fanned out like a delta. The sweat he'd exerted was drying on his skin and chilling him, even through his clothing. Alphonse's sudden shout made him look up quickly, so fast a bolt of pain shot through his skull.

"We've got company!"

Edward looked back in the direction of his little brother's pointing finger and his heart sank when he saw two distant figures approaching. One man leaned sideways towards the red can he carried, a full can of petrol to get the car to Munich.

"Brother! What are we going to do?" Edward chewed his lip for a moment and contemplated his choices. Taking the car wasn't an option, so was just running for it. He gave the barn a long, speculative look. They could hide in there and perhaps set up some kind of an ambush. "C'mon Al," he jerked his head to indicate his little brother should follow before he started over to the barn at a quick jog. He didn't go very fast because he wanted the two men to see them.

Just as he'd hoped, shouts arose from the two men and Edward was gratified to see them start running just before he slipped through a narrow gap between the two massive wooden barn doors. He stopped briefly to get his bearings once they were inside. Once the barn had been home to a few dozen cows and probably echoed to the sounds of their lowing. Now the barns interior was cold, and other than the wind soughing through holes in the roof, quite silent. The brothers moved cautiously through a thin layer of old straw that crunched under their feet and ducked when they heard bird wings fluttering just above their head.

The loft was piled high with teetering bales of moldy hay, Edward could smell the pungency in the air when he looked up at a pulley arrangement hanging from one of the great beams that criss-crossed the barns interior. Thick ropes were draped over the pulley wheel and still looked securely tied to a dangerous looking hook that hung almost to the floor. A plan for an ambush began to form in Edward's mind and he grinned for the first time that day.

Alphonse looked sideways at his brother from under his mussed bangs. It was almost as if he could read Edward's thoughts; and he didn't like what he'd found out. He was suspicious and not entirely sure his brother's hare-brained scheme would work. But it wasn't like they had a whole lot of options right now, and he didn't want to wind up locked back into that car trunk..

Edward waded through the thin straw layer over to a nearly hidden door underneath the hay loft, opened it, and walked through. Alphonse heard a muffled clanging and surmised he'd found a tool crib. When Edward didn't come back out right away, and Alphonse could hear faint voices coming from outside, he went to see what his brother was doing.

He opened the door and gasped in surprise. The walls were hung with a motley collection of rusty metal implements: axes, hatches, scythes, saws, and some tools he didn't recognize, like long poles topped with hooks, or a pair of long-handled tongs with curving blades. Edward took in a shadowy corner with his back to him, he was standing very still while a faint hissing sound could be heard. Alphonse wondered what was going on until he heard the distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled closed. "Ugh,Brother!"

"What?!" Edward looked over his shoulder to give Alphonse a narrow-eyed stare, and he scowled when he saw Alphonse wrinkle his nose. "I really had to go, Al, so don't give me that look." He replied in an exasperated growl. He stomped through the straw and examined the tools, touching a few and giving them an experimental push, so they swung from their hooks and clanged softly together like wind chimes. Suddenly, he exhaled a sharp "ah!" and picked up the long-handled pair of tongs. He pulled the arms open, and then snapped the blades together with rather too much relish. The pivoting hinge was stiff with rust and it creaked in protest, yet it still moved.

Alphonse felt queasy at the sight and more so when Edward chuckled. "Heh, heh," and snapped the blades together a few more times. Some rust had flaked off and the hinge worked faster.

"Do you know what this is, Al?" He waved the device in the air at him, and Alphonse took a step backwards. "N-noo."

"It's called an emasculator and it's used for gelding young bull calves. Nellie's dad had one and he demonstrated it for me once. He put a piece of string into a paper bag and closed these blades on it. The bag was unmarked after he opened them, but the string was cut in half."

Alphonse stuck his tongue out in disgust. I suppose that just made you want to watch it used on a real calf."

"Yeah," Edward's expression grew wistful, the way it always did when he reminisced about their childhood in Risembool. "He told me not to, but I snuck into the barn and watched from the hay loft, anyways. I puked my guts out after I saw it used on the first calf. Nellie's dad caught me then, but I was so miserable, he must have decided it was punishment enough and didn't tell Mom."

"I swore never to eat meat again, especially those 'Briggs Mountain Oysters'." Now Alphonse felt distinctly nauseous. 'Briggs Mountain Oysters' were a local delicacy, served only at the Spring Lamb Festival. Two different sizes were served with savory dipping sauces, and he used to love them. Their mother used to make her own version by chopping 'oyster meat' finely with lettuce, onions, and sweet peppers before forming them into balls and deep-frying them in lard. Some she served hot, as an after school snack with home-made sour cream; the rest were put aside in the freezer for the winter holidays.

Edward would have gone on, but footsteps crunched on the gravel outside. Voices were heard just outside the doors, the two Thule operatives had paused, and he could hear them discussing how to recapture him and Alphonse. A bolt of fear mixed with a hot punch of anger ran down his spine and coiled in his midsection. "Quick, Al!" he hissed quietly, leaned close, and rapidly sketched out a rough plan before pushing his little brother's shoulder. He threw the emasculator over one shoulder and grabbed a large, doubled sided axe before leaving the tool room and rushing to a far corner of the main room.

Alphonse quickly scanned the tools hanging on the wall before he selected a large coil of rope and followed Edward. He tossed the coil crosswise over his shoulders and climbed a ladder made of two by fours nailed into the side of that wall that supported the loft. There he located the other end of the ropes that worked the pulley and settled down to hide behind some of the hay bales. He could smell the strong moldy odor coming off them and hoped he wouldn't sneeze and give the surprise away.

He wasn't a moment too soon because the great barn doors rattled and groaned before sliding open a few feet. Shoes scraped on the barns threshold and their two "transporters" walked in. "Hullo, Shambalans! Where are you?" one sang in a pleasant, if mocking tenor voice. His companion laughed harshly and added "Yeah, c'mon Shambalans! It's getting late and we've got a long way to go until Munich!" His voice was more _basso_, and his attempt at the other's sing-song cadence fell flat because he couldn't carry a tune in a basket.

"Stay away from us!!" Edward shouted in a panicked voice that cracked with nervousness. His yellow eyes were wide, showing the whites. His face was paled with fear, so the dried blood looked black. He hefted the huge axe in trembling hands, holding it so tightly his left knuckles were white against the dirty skin. Edward wasn't the best actor, but he was pretending to be absolutely terrified. It was working like a charm; both men were giving him their complete attention, and cracking nearly identical grins as they advanced slowly and almost too casually towards him.

As Edward had hoped, neither man was bright enough to realize he was just acting, and they began to separate as they continued to walk, as if trying to outflank him and cut off his escape. The man to his right spread his arms out wide and crooned to Edward as if he was a nervous horse. "Take it easy, Shambalan. We won't hurt you, so just take it easy. That's right, everything will be O.K."

Edward shifted his gaze left where the second man was fumbling with a glass bottle containing a clear liquid, and a rather dirty handkerchief. An explosive sneeze sounded from the hayloft, causing both men to look up and renew their daffy grins. "Your little brother is up there, then?" asked the man who was shaking some of the liquid onto the handkerchief. Edward spared a precious second to look up and see the hook was no longer hanging directly above him. Now it was closer to the ceiling and caught around the twine of a hay bale, which lazily turned left and right. The sneeze wasn't part of the plan, but the two Thule operatives were so overconfident, his plan would still work. Alphonse was ready to play his part, so it was time he brought this drama to a close.

He let a mock whimper escape his throat while his eyes darted back and forth, as if searching for a way past the two men. They were relaxed and very sure of themselves, so the surprise would be even greater. "C'mon, Shambalan, don't be scared of a little chloroform; you just breathe it in and have a nice long nap. Wouldn't you like that?"

Edward's reply was to up his fake panic attack, he panted like a steam engine as his feet shifted restlessly in the straw. He raised the axe higher and his arms trembled with fatigue, but he wasn't faking this because the damn thing really was heavy. He tightened the grip of his right hand, just beneath the axes head and the dry rotted wood popped just before the massive double bitted head fell off. Edward gasped and jumped back just in time to avoid being struck by one blade as the other thumped solidly through the straw and into the wooden barn floor.

_That was close!_ Went his internal thoughts because he could have gotten a very nasty gash from the rusty metal.

"Ha, ha!" chortled the man to his right as he advanced, his hands open and ready to seize Edward, who lashed out wildly with the headless axe handle. The other man dodged the blow and grabbed the handle before the two engaged in a brief tug-of-war over it.

"Quit messing about Hans, and grab his arms!" The man holding the handkerchief ordered in a peevish tone while he also advanced on Edward, the chloroform soaked cloth held high, drops of liquid falling from between his fingers. Edward let loose with a mock scream of fear, but inside he yelled _Now, Al!_

Rusty metal above them screeched loudly and all three looked up just as the bale of hay attached to the pulley smashed down on the head of the second man. The moldy bale mostly disintegrated on impact, but enough remained to knock him down to the floor with a solid sounding thud. He laid still, the arm holding the handkerchief flung outwards. Edward gave the first man a dangerous, toothy grin as he backpedaled, tripping over his own feet, the balance of power now shifted. He still held the axe handle because Edward had abruptly let go of it, and now the blond crouched in the straw and grabbed the emasculator he'd hidden at his feet.

He closed the rusty curved blades on the front of Hans's pants just before the now empty hook snagged his collar and yanked him into the cold air. Hans uttered a loud whoop of surprise as he found himself dangling helplessly five feet closer to the crumbling barn roof. He struggled to get free and shouted curse words at the Shambalan who strangely didn't seem at all panicked now.

Edward leaned on the emasculator like it was a cane, and beamed a brilliant smile at his erstwhile captor. "It looks like someone else gets to ride in that damn trunk for awhile". Hans answered him with a stream of very filthy words that made Edward's cheeks redden. "Language, Hans!" Edward wagged one admonishing finger. "What would your mother say if she heard you say that?"

Hans cursed some more, this time adding pungent remarks about Edward's ancestry and sexual preferences. This simply caused to Edward just stare in shock because not even Breda had ever sworn like that.

Then, Hans did a very foolish thing, reaching up to open the buttons of his long black trench coat. He was a fairly slim man, and he slipped effortlessly out of the garment after only three buttons, but his fall wasn't graceful like he'd expected. Hans began to tilt backwards and his head connected with the barn floor with an ominous crack. He lay still in the old straw and Edward ran up to him, fearing the worst. He knelt down and pressed two fingers to the sides of Hans's neck. He was still alive, but unconscious, as was the man struck with the hay bale.

Edward blew out a sigh of relief as Alphonse climbed back down the ladder and hurried over to him. The plan hadn't gone off exactly as he'd envisioned, but it had worked well enough. Together, they dragged Hans over to his fellow, stripped off their coats, and got busy with the coil of rope Alphonse had brought.

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Less than ten minutes later, Hans and his partner were tied together, back to back in the straw. Their hands were also pulled behind their backs and tied at the wrists. The first man was stirring, groggily shaking his head, and groaning. His arms twitched as he tested his bonds, first gently, and then thrashing harder as he realized what had happened. The ropes creaked against his exertions, but they held fast, so the man settled for twisting his neck and glaring at the now awakening Hans.

The first thing Hans heard was an insult, "Hans, you _schiesskopf_! Look what you've gotten us into!"

"Huh? What?" Hans was still groggy and trying to figure out where he was and how he'd gotten into this state. The back of his head ached abominably like it was about to break into pieces. The other man was struggling against the ropes again and banged his skull into his, causing Hans to cry out with pain. "Stop it, Adolph! Stop it!"

Adolph had just opened his mouth to cuss Hans out again when the straw rustled off to the side. Both men turned their heads - cautiously - towards the sound and saw the younger of the two Shambalans standing there. His hands rested on his hips and he looked disgustingly pleased with himself. He was wearing Hans's coat and hot anger rushed through his veins at the sight. "It's about time you two woke up! Brother was all for leaving right away, but I wanted to make sure both of you were awake and alive before we make our escape."

Adolph responded with a stream of some of the same words that had shocked Edward, and the boy first paled slightly before his cheeks turned a faint pink. He'd taken a breath to resume the verbal abuse when the other Shambalan returned to the barn and clapped his hands over his little brother's ears. "Hush now or I'll gag you with a handful of this straw!" He had Adolph's coat on, but it was far too large because he could practically hide it in it. Adolph was a generously sized man who liked second or even third helpings of food that stuck to his ribs.

The blond Shambalan rummaged through the coat pockets and came up with two wallets, his, and Hans'. He went through the latter, coming up with an identity card. "Hans Kleinschmidtt," he said slowly in his oddly accented German. "Wow, that's a remarkably ugly photo of you Hans, did you break the camera with that?" Hans ground his teeth, but said nothing, although the deepening red of his face spoke to his anger and embarrassment.

The Shambalan laughed at this, but he stopped and uttered a low whistle after he pulled a fist full of Deutschmarks out of the wallet. "Hey! You give that back!" Hans snapped the last of his self control gone. He didn't care if Hess wanted these two alive, once he got free of these ropes, he was going to throttle both of them.

"Hm," mused the Shambalan, "Killing Jews and harassing gypsies pays pretty good, huh?" Those strange yellow eyes had gone cold and hard, making a bolt of fear shoot icily through Adolph's guts. He remembered the axe the Shambalan had held, he'd grown up on a farm himself; and he knew there were more sharp-edged weapons where that one had come from.

But the Shambalan didn't seem interested in murder, he dropped Hans's wallet into the straw and rifled through Adolph's. "Adolph Lowenstein, your photo is even uglier than Hans' here." He also emptied that wallet of Deutschmarks before dropping it into the straw where it bounced once and came to rest leaning on Adolph's left shoe.

"Hey! Give that money back!" Adolph demanded in a harsh voice, his eyes narrowed to slits and his face red with fury. He began to struggle in earnest again, and he had the satisfaction of seeing anxiety glow in the large brown eyes of the younger Shambalan. But the ropes continued to hold him and he stopped when he felt a twinge of rope burn in one wrist.

"Brother, I think we should go before it gets dark. I'd feel better putting a lot of miles between us before these two get loose and set the entire Thule Society after us." The light coming in through the gap between the vast barn doors did seem dimmer, a pearlescent gray. The blond one wanted to stay a while longer and annoy the two, like poking cobras with a stick.

His face wore this scary smile and Hans began to feel a little afraid, _Grupenfuehrer_ Schulz had murdered that gypsy whore right in front of him and he likely wanted to take revenge on someone. At the briefing before the pre-dawn raid on the carny encampment, they'd been warned the Shambalan known as Edward Elric was a bit crazy. _"Batshit insane"_ is how Schulz had put it because no sane person would willingly live among sub human carnival folk or lie with a gypsy bitch.

Someday soon, Germany would rise again with the help of the Nazis, and they would cleanse this country of all but those of pure Aryan blood. The rest of Europe would come next, and finally the fabled Shambala. That was why the Thule Society needed these two strangers; locked in their minds was the knowledge needed to open the way to their world. Director Eckart had used her magic powers to learn the design of the magic circle once, but that and how to make it work had died with her. Hess and some others had vowed to carry on with the Thule Society's work, and it seemed a stroke of brilliant luck when the Shambalan not only returned, but brought his brother with him.

Hans was so lost in pleasant dreams of the future; he almost didn't notice the two were leaving. This was bad because Hess would be furious with them for their failure. He had a vicious temper and was rumored to have shot many people on less provocation. The younger Shambalan kept looking back as if he wanted to say something and he paused one last time on the barn threshold. But in the end, he just shook his head sadly before he disappeared through the gap.

The older one smiled and sketched out a cheery wave, saying as he walked away, "Ta-ta! I hope we never meet again!" Then he too, was gone, and receding footsteps crunched on gravel, the sound becoming fainted and fainter. Both of them heard two doors slam shut before a car engine started up with a roar. The car began moving, the engine sound growing louder briefly as the vehicle made a U-turn, before it gradually faded away, back in the direction it had come.

Silence rushed in, broken only by the moaning of the wind and the fluttering of birds wings. The two Thule operatives realized they were becoming rather cold without their coats and tied together in a vulnerable position. White flakes began to drift down through holes in the roof and Adult shivered. _How could things get any worse?_ He thought; but he shouldn't have because a pigeon landed on his head a moment later. He shook his head impatiently and the spooked bird flew off just as suddenly, but not before pooping in his carefully groomed hair.

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He'd heard it all before, so Alphonse held his tongue, but Edward really was a terrible driver. He drove too fast, turned without signaling and dared to pass slower moving vehicles on the right. The one time he spoke up to scold, "You're going to get pulled over, Brother!" Edward turned his head and flashed a paint stripping glare, drifting into the opposite lane while he did so, and nearly running head on into another car.

So Alphonse kept the peace, even when his left leg ached from pushing on an imaginary brake. He stayed occupied for half an hour by rummaging through the glove compartment for anything useful. But the first thing he discovered was a Mauser automatic pistol, a fully loaded one to be exact. Alphonse held the solid weight of the cold steel in both hands and felt a little sick inside. A few strands of blond hair were stuck to the barrel, so he surmised this was what Hans had pistol whipped Edward with and the boy swallowed hard. He tugged on the bottom of the grip to pull out the magazine - it was full - plus he found a box of bullets shoved to the back of the glove compartment.

Alphonse had never handled a gun in his life and now he regretted not asking Lieutenant Hawkeye how to tell if the safety was on or off. He had to assume it was, but he still slid it very carefully into one coat pocket, and the bullets into another. He next discovered something more useful than a gun - a road map of Germany - it was very detailed and clearly showed all the secondary roads. He carefully examined it and realized he didn't have a clue where they were until they reached the outskirts of Stuttgart. Then was Alphonse able to guide Edward on to an alternate route that dove slightly south of the city before it stretched west to the border with France.

He doubted Hans and Adolph could get free, find a phone, and put out a warning to the other Thule operatives any time soon, but Alphonse didn't want to take any chances. He said, and Edward agreed with him the best course of action was to put as many miles and possible between them and Germany. They stopped once in a small village he didn't catch the name of to refill the cars tank with petrol and grab a quick dinner at a cafe. Both of them were nervous and noticed all the interested glances other patrons threw the way of the two boys in over-sized black trench coats. But Alphonse forgot about them once the food arrived, it was just simple peasant fare of sauerbraten, yet it smelled heavenly and he ate with almost as much gusto as Edward did.

Edward drove for another hour after that, until darkness was completely fallen and he gave the wheel over to Alphonse. "No one will notice you're underage at this time of night" he mumbled while stretching out in the back seat. He pulled Adolf's fedora down over his eyes and quickly commenced a steady snoring that competed with the hum of the engine. Alphonse drove until the wee hours when his eyes began drooping and he pulled over to park the car behind some bushes. He shut off the engine and listened to it ticking as it cooled. The night bore down, blacker than black once the headlights were turned off. Edward mumbled sleepily and turned over in the back seat, the springs creaking slightly under his weight and that was the last thing Alphonse remembered.

Bright sunlight was streaming in through the back window and the sky was a brilliant azure vault arching above the car when he woke up with a start. Alphonse put his hands over his head and stretched, grimacing and grunting as stiff muscles protested and joints popped. He'd slept for only a few hours, although it felt longer. A pulling sensation in his midsection told him it was a good idea to empty his bladder and he opened the door without thinking and stepped out. The new day was fresh and clean as well as cold, the freezing air striking Alphonse's face like a hard slap. His teeth were chattering by the time he jumped back into the car and slammed the door again.

This woke up Edward who went through the same exercise of stretching and grunting before he too had to leave the car and relieve himself. Alphonse was sitting in his accustomed spot in the passenger seat once he returned, and he was so quiet, Edward gave him a searching look. "Al? What's up? Are you sick?" Being compelled to stop for recuperation from an illness would have been a disaster, but Alphonse just shot his brother a sheepish grin as his stomach growled loudly. "I'm just kinda really hungry, Brother."

"Then, let's find some breakfast, Al." He turned the key and the engine thankfully caught right away; Edward backed the car up in a large "Y" turn. He was a bit awkward, but the tires found pavement again and they continued westward to France. They made a brief stop in another small German village to buy food: bread, cheese, apples, a small jar of horseradish sauce, a jug of apple juice, and some dried beef at a one-room general store. Edward continued to drive while Alphonse, using a flick knife he'd found in the glove compartment, sawed the bread into slices and spread them with the horseradish sauce. He balanced them precariously on his knees while piling on some cheese and beef, thankfully pre-cut.

The sandwiches weren't perfect because the flick knife blade wasn't really suited to cutting foodstuffs, plus it was a tad dull, but the brothers considered them delicious. Edward actually pulled over onto the roads verge so he could use both hands to eat. They guzzled every drop of the apple juice (the store sold milk, but Alphonse knew better than to expect Edward to touch so much as a drop), but saved the apples for lunch later. Alphonse continued to study the map until his eyes crossed and directed Edward when ever they came to a crossroads. He took over the driving chores after dark fell again, and when they came to a small town only a few miles from the border, he suggested they splurge just a bit and treat themselves to sleeping on a real bed.

The owner took a double take at the sight of two boys without luggage, who wore black trench coats too large for them, but the feel of crisp Deutschmarks in his hand convinced him to keep his mouth shut. Both brothers were very tired and they shared a simple meal of knockwurst, bread and cheese in the inn's cozy (read: cramped) dining room before they retired to the single room they'd booked. They removed their shoes and pushed the beds closer together before, still fully clothed, wrapping themselves in the thin quilts and falling fast asleep.

Well, Alphonse entered the Land of Nod the instant his head hit the pillow, but Edward stayed awake a few minutes longer. His body reminded him of the new aches and pains it had acquired in the past forty-eight hours; his head was especially resentful of the treatment it had received of a rifle butt to the back and a pistol barrel to the front. But not even that, nor the guilt of being unable to save Noa and his potential child could keep sleep at bay forever and his dreams were black and red that night. They were disturbing, but too vague to make him sit bolt upright, terrified, and sweating. He woke up suddenly once, thinking he'd heard someone walking about, but decided it was just an old building settling. He fell into a deeper sleep sometime close to dawn and didn't wake up until he felt something cold and wet trickling down his face.

Alphonse stood next to Edward's bed and smiled down on him, his hair was damp and random drips of water came off it. "The water didn't get very warm, but I took a bath anyways, because I couldn't stand the smell of myself anymore."

Edward noticed Alphonse's lips were tinged with a slight bluish tone, which indicated the water was colder than he was letting on. But of more importance was the gauntlet his little brother had just thrown down. "Al, are you saying that I stink?"

"Yes, Brother," Alphonse screwed up his young face in a convincing facsimile of someone encountering a bad smell. "You are beginning to, um - _reek_."

Edward shot off the bed and threw a pillow at Alphonse, who ducked it and retaliated with a goose feather missile of his own. The exercise warmed Edward up and once he began to sweat, he had to admit that, yes; he did smell like too-long-unwashed male.

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Later on, Edward had to admit the water really was quite cold. If there had been any warmth to it at all, Alphonse must have used all it all up. Instead of plunging himself into a deep bath tub, it felt more like he'd jumped head-first into the Rhine River. On the good side, he no longer felt any aches and pains because he'd gone quite numb from the cold. He ducked his head under the water, sucking in his breath with the shock and washed his hair as quickly as he could. The water had turned slightly pink by the time he'd finished rinsing all the soap out of it, and then he dried off hastily, rubbing hard at icy skin with a thin and not very absorbent towel from the sparsely stocked linen closet. When Edward dressed, he did so in what had been his outermost layer of clothing, which smelled ever so slightly fresher than the layers closer to his skin.

Only slightly chilled by now, they went downstairs to the dining room for a simple breakfast of watered down and nearly tasteless coffee and crusty rolls which were so hard, they must have been basked during the Great War. The cold came to greet them with a frosty face slap that turned their cheeks ruddy and tingling. A weak, gusty wind sent tendrils of cold air slipping down collars to chill their backs and under coat hems to freeze legs. Edward almost missed the several layers of clothing he'd worn; he shivered inside the enveloping trench coat and used the bundle of garments to wipe frost off the car windows.

He started the car and sat in silence while the engine ticked busily away and the heater _eventually_ sent out welcome currents of warmth. Once he could flex the fingers of his left hand, but more importantly _feel_ them, he shifted the car into drive and let it find the way out of town.

//////////////////////

Four days after the incident at the carnival, Edward and Alphonse stood on the qay at the French port of Calais and watched their ship come in. The cross channel ferry docked ponderously slowly, the gang planks came down and were secured before a stream of humanity poured down onto Gallic soil. It would be several hours while the ferry was cleaned and re-provisioned before it was ready for its return trip back to England. For perhaps the hundredth time, Edward shoved his hands deeply into the pockets of the trench coat, partially because his hand was cold, but also to feel and hear the comforting crackle of a third-class steamship ticket.

They'd pulled into Calais late that afternoon, just before the banks closed, but they made it to one just in time to exchange Deutschmarks for French francs. The total was still short of the amount needed to purchase third-class passage for the two across the English Channel, even if Alphonse still looked young enough to pay children's fare.

After Edward asked around in the cheap waterfront cafe where they shared a bowl of rather dodgy bouillabaisse, he managed to sell the car to a disreputable sort who called himself "Serge". That probably wasn't his real name and he probably wasn't a traveling shoe salesman who needed reliable transportation. He knew it wasn't true, and he knew Edward was on to him as well. On the other hand, "Serge" didn't buy Edward's quickly hashed out story of two brothers bumming around Europe either. Not that any of them cared one way or the other, it was just a way to move the negotiations on price forward.

Edward even managed to sell their extra clothes for a handful of sous; but he kept the pistol and bullets. The bullets were hidden inside an inner breast pocket of Alphonse's coat, and the pistol in Edward's, where it hung, like a lump of ice against his chest. It was no one's business that he had a gun, and he felt it might be useful should any Thule operatives, by some horrible chance, catch up to them.

Now all he and Alphonse had to do was sit and wait for the ferry. It wouldn't be leaving Calais until dusk, in order to take advantage of the outgoing tide. Edward was outwardly calm, but he felt fretful inside because every hour they cooled their heels was another hour the Thule Society had to track them down. Finding them would be pathetically easy, even if they hadn't left a trail, everyone knew Calais was one of the busiest ports of departure from Europe.

For fear of getting lost, the brothers didn't wander from the water front while they killed time in some aimless window shopping in nearby streets. They looked at most of the goods on offer with unfocussed eyes, but at one bookshop, Edward actually put his face up against the glass and stared longingly at an antique French text about alchemy. He dearly wanted to go inside and browse the high shelves crammed to bursting with readable treasures and inhale the scents of old paper, ink, and leather.

They had hours left before the ferry was ready, didn't they?

Alphonse briefly showed interest in entering because the air was growing colder, until a plaintive meowing coming from an alley next to the bookshop grabbed his attention. Edward easily could pop in and look at some books, and then inquire about the cost of the alchemy text, but then his internal scold raised its ugly head.

They couldn't get separated, couldn't become distracted and lose track of time. The tickets were only for this particular crossing, and they were non-refundable. Missing the ferry was a risk too great to take, so Edward sighed and hung his head with regret. He looked to his left to see Alphonse on his knees, with a little grey and white kitten clutched to his chest. Three fingers of his right hand scratched the probably flea-ridden little beast behind one ear while his lips were moving and forming soft-spoken words of comfort to funnel into the kittens upright ears.

Alphonse had such a soft heart and Edward wouldn't put it past him to try and smuggle the kitten under his coat. But they were on the run from a dangerous foe and Edward couldn't afford to be soft with their freedom at stake. Still, he briefly indulged himself in a comforting little fantasy. The shop owner would need a clerk and would offer a little apartment above the shop in return for his labor. Alphonse could keep the kitten, plus he could go to school here and have a halfway normal life while Edward sold books all day. Enough books they would eventually save enough money for steamship passage to America, a country large enough for them to finally lose their pursuers.

Then, a high-pitched child's voice called "Collette! Collette!" and his bubble burst into nothingness. A little girl, her face twisted with anxiety, and wearing a dark blue cloth coat and matching beret came running past Edward. She was trailed by an equally anxious woman, also dressed in a fashionable coat, her brunette hair bobbed in the latest style. The girl had gone straight for Alphonse and she shrieked with joy when she saw the kitten. Fortunately, Alphonse spoke reasonably good French and he yielded the little bundle of fur with a warm smile, and then exchanged pleasant words with the girl and her mother.

The little girl's face was wreathed in smiles as the two left, bearing the kitten named Collette in triumph against her chest. Edward smiled and bobbed his head in a respectful salute as they passed, and murmured _"bon soir"_ in a quiet tone of voice. The odds were infinitely long that any Thule operatives would inquire of the girl and her mother about two strange boys wearing too-large black trench coats. Yet it was best they not draw attention to themselves. Alphonse came up to Edward just then, he was still smiling, but his dark brown eyes were somber; he opened his mouth to speak, but a loud horn blare cut off his words. Their ship was finally ready to take on passengers, and the brothers walked quickly back to the quay.

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Each passing foot the ferry drew away from the dock and more and more dark, swirling water separated them from French soil. There was a little more easing of the tightness in Edward's chest. He stood still on the fantail and watched the lights of Calais recede until they were just bright dots in the inky blackness. The ferry tooted twice, as if in salute as it passed the breakwater and entered the open English Channel. The night was clear and cold; the Channel was calm as glass, only the slightest of swells lifting the ferry's bow. This was fortunate for Edward as the gentle rolling made his stomach flip over just a little bit. The rest of the trip wasn't pleasant, but he lay down on the floor of the third-class area and kept his lips tightly pressed together.

Edward was realistic to know life in England would not be much easier than in Germany. But, just knowing they wouldn't need to look over their shoulders for the Thule Society helped them to breathe easier. Until the day he was kidnapped from that London pub...

///////////////////////////

"Here they come, Edward. No, don't stand there, come over here, and peer out from the side."

Roderic demonstrated the proper technique for peeking out a window by bending his knees slightly and swiveling his head to look. "It's two minutes to midnight, how predictable."

A muffled crash came from three floors below them, signifying the first Christianists had gained entry. Edward peered cautiously from the side, but it was almost pitch black outside, because of a gibbous quarter moon obscured by shredded clouds herded by a high wind. Lightning flashed suddenly and made him flinch, but not before it exposed a half dozen human-like figures in a brief burst of white light.

The Christianists came not _en masse_, but in widely spaced groups of two. It would be a good strategy in most cases, but not when their target knew they were coming. Edward had helped with the preparations, using alchemy to block certain corridors or alter the directions of others. Even the shapes of some were changed and Roderic's explanations for this was to both confuse the Christianists, and confirm the rumors they'd heard about Bishopscourt Hille.

"It's another strategy to lull them into a false sense of security. To discover all the lurid stories told about the wicked Eldritch family and the den of iniquity they turned the old ecclesiastical palace into turned out to be true." Roderic said this with the air of someone who'd done a lot of thinking about this matter. The older man got up from his half crouch, wincing when his left knee popped with a loud crack, like a rifle shot. He stood up straight and rubbed the small of his back with the knuckles of his left hand. "The Christian bishops who once lived here wouldn't have fared any better. This particular group of Christianists regards any others not of the exact same thinking as 'apostates' who are out of God's favor. Therefore, they must be put to death to appease this supposedly furious deity."

A bemused Edward chewed this information over before he spoke up. "It doesn't sound much different from certain Christian groups Al and I met in our, ah - 'travels'. One side of Edward's mouth briefly quirked up at the sudden gleam of interest that sparked to life in Roderic's yellow eyes. He seemed to want to know more about these 'travels', but Edward was saved from answering by the sudden hiss and crackle of an alchemic reaction, accompanied by sparks of red and blue in the air outside the window. He could smell the ozone in the air even from behind a closed window.

As if it were somehow possible, Roderic's posture straightened up even more, like an old war horse answering the bugle call one last time. "Old age is taking its toll, Colonel Elric. I normally would have turned in hours ago, but this is an important night. The first alchemic trap has been sprung, melting the door right into its frame. There is no way out for them now."

Edward peeked over the sill again when another lightning bolt lit up the outside, but the patch of lawn was empty. "It's time to give our guests a proper welcome."

//////////////////////////////////

Still wearing pajamas and in stocking feet, Alphonse bolted down a corridor as fast as he could. He was trying to be both silent and keep the man in front of him of his sights. But, it wasn't easy due to the twists and turns the corridor was taking; Trinity had told him they were using alchemy to "alter" the already twisting passageways, but he hadn't realized the Eldritch family was quite so creative.

Bishopscourt Hille had been built in fits and starts over a period of centuries, so corridors took bewildering shifts of direction according to the whims of long-dead designers and builders. Some passageways were so narrow; barely two people could walk abreast, while others were wide and straight. Some were blind; while others were lined with doors, or windows. Even the designs of those varied, from the most elaborate to utterly plain. Right now, they were uniformly dark, except for pools of dim blue light cast by triangular shaped wall sconces. The corridor Alphonse was currently traversing was like the former type, until it took a sudden turn to the right and opened up into a generous gallery, lined with floor to ceiling portraits.

The change was so abrupt, it took Alphonse by surprise; and he had to skid to a stop, back up and peek around a corner. The man he'd followed was standing still in the middle of the gallery and speaking in urgent tones to three other people; two of them women. A bolt of lightning flashed so brightly through a skylight, that Alphonse yelped in surprise and the entire group looked in his direction. He jerked back against the wall, slapped a hand over his mouth, and cursed under his breath.

Fortunately, thunder crashed almost immediately on the lightning's heels, Alphonse could only hope the noise he'd made was obscured. The storm must be practically overhead the manor house, what a fitting accompaniment to the grim events about to unfold. Alphonse peered around the corner again, but the gallery was empty of people. Of living people anyways, he crept past the portraits, feeling the painted eyes of the subject boring through his back. Some portraits were clearly quite old and even included some of the later Christian bishops scattered amongst random Eldritches. The latter had hair of all shades - blonde, brunette, black, chestnut, and even white; but all had the same yellow eyes which burned like fire.

The bishops were surrounded by the symbols of their religion: crosses, bibles, chalices, staffs with curled tops, and the special hats Trinity had told him were called _miters. _Strangest of all was one man who leaned an elbow against a table which contained two cunningly rendered fish and three loaves of bread, so three dimensional, Alphonse felt he could have touched them. Trinity also told him many legends about the Christian religion and one was the tale about Jesus feeding a multiple of people from only two fish ("they were mackerels" she had claimed, with an entirely straight face) and three loaves of bread. Alphonse filed it away in his mind as more evidence Jesus had been an alchemist. The eyes of this bishop looked benignly from his portrait, as if he wanted to tell Alphonse something, but the painted lips never moved and no voice reverberated inside the boy's head.

He turned resolutely towards the far door of the gallery, flinching only slightly when another lightning bolt lit the gallery up as bright as day. Thunder grumbled above him, as if in warning.

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"COME OUT, YOUR FILTHY ALCHEMISTS! COME OUT AND FEEL THE WRATH OF ALMIGHTY GOD!!"

The words reverberated in the empty air of the blank corridor after they'd come raging from the throat of a young man with close-cropped blond hair. Sweat eroded rivulets in the drying mud he'd caked his face with as a sign of his penance. Bits of it fell on the floor as he pounded his fists on the wall until the knuckles first cracked, and then bled. The rough plaster flayed tiny pieces of skin from his fingers and tiny dots of blood spattered on the white surface, like mold. Bloodshot green eyes burned like fire with his frustration and he began to bang his head against the wall. The mud mask cracked some more before one side shattered completely and slid off his face, little chunks hitting the floor with tiny plinking sounds.

"COME OUT! DAMN YOU TO HELL!!" He continued to screech, although his throat was drying out and his voice was becoming raspier with each shout. Soon he wouldn't be able to speak, except above a whisper, until his larynx gave way and he lost the power of speech altogether.

The mission to save the damned souls of the alchemists was falling apart at the seams and Sister Janette ducked her head, as if prayer. Actually, she used the cover of darkness to bring one hand up to massage her temples, as if that could wipe away the migraine that threatened to break through. After they'd prayed for God's forgiveness and strength, and fasted in penance and preparation, Janette was filled with hope for a successful mission. This feeling had grown after the outer door of the mansion was quickly breached, and they'd made good time at first. But then the corridors changed direction, size and even shape from what was drawn on the crude map.

Hunger, thirst, and then mounting frustration after she realized the Eldritches had anticipated the raid had led to this situation. But, Janette had suffered from migraines since she was a young girl. She heard loud sounds and saw bright lights behind her eyes, while her head pounded with the most excruciating agony. They were bad enough she had once sought relief from modern medicine; until the day the Prophet came to her and said the migraines were actually a sign of God's favor.

"He is testing you, Sister", and she'd felt ashamed of herself. She immediately cancelled her next appointment with the Quinn Street neurologist, flushed away the pills he'd given her and thrown herself wholeheartedly into prayer. After suffering weeks of stiff joints from kneeling almost constant prayer, God had shown her what to do in a vision of a blazing cross. Janette had immediately lain down on the thin straw pallet that served as her bed and slept deeply for hours, she woke up feeling refreshed, and most importantly, cured of the curse of the migraines.

Then, she went to see the church Elders. After she relayed her vision to them in exacting detail and what she thought it meant, the Elders convened for a long meeting. The planning took months of preparations, from site selections to special training of the proselytizers. But once they felt ready, events moved swiftly and the first alchemists were kidnapped just short of a year of Janette's vision.

But now, everything the Christianists had worked on for years was in tatters, the Burning Places invaded and the doomed souls snatched away from redemption. As Janette saw it, they had nothing left to lose and ought to go all out in a glorious last burst of God's judgment. They would invade Bishopscourt Hille and wipe out the Eldritch clan to every last man, woman and child over the age of ten. Younger children would be spared because their hearts were still pure and uncorrupted, their feet could still be placed on the Righteous Path. Then, Janette and the others would defile Satan's Temple by making a bonfire of every evil book in the manor, right on top of the Damned Circle.

The final sacrifice to God would be Roderic Eldritch himself; tied to a wooden stake in the very middle of it, as a foretaste of the Hellfire he would burn in for all Eternity. Since the events of the last few days, she also determined to burn those two Amestrian alchemists, Edward, and Alphonse Elric right alongside him.

Yes, the very thought of executing those three stopped the whirling of chaotic thoughts in her head, brining them to a standstill. Calm spread inside her mind, the dark clouds moved aside to be replaced by blue sky. She drew a long, shuddering breath of relief as the migraine faded away. The young man laid face down on the floor and sobbed as if his heart was breaking. He was praying to God in a harsh whisper, all that was left of his voice. Janette let a beatific smile crawl across her face as the mantle of God's approval spread over her shoulders like a warm cloak. The others in her group saw her expression and her relief spread through them too.

God was behind them and in front of them, He was all around and He would not let them down. They would get through this and carve a crest of blood upon Bishopscourt Hille. By tomorrow morning, the scents of blood and ashes would fill the building. She walked over to the sobbing man, bent down, and placed one hand on his right shoulder. "Come, Brother Frederick, God has work for us to do."

He stopped crying at once, turned his head, and looked up at her. Tears still slipped freely down his face, but he was smiling just like Janette. Without a word, he couldn't speak above a whisper anyways, he stood up, and aside to let her pass, before he followed obediently. The other three were close on his heels and they walked through the twisted, interminable corridor until a final bend brought them to an archway decorated with alabaster angels rendered in delicate plasterwork.

It looked very old, like a doorway carved in the days when this place was an actual bishopric. But Janette noticed the difference immediately and it made her blood boil. All the angels had the face of Roderic Eldritch, and the largest one, smack in the middle of the arch had the index finger of each hand stuck in its ears. The eyes were crossed and the tongue stuck out, as if the angel was making a "raspberry" at the viewer. Janette curled her lip with disgust, Roderic's point was taken, but it added to her determination to make him suffer for his temerity.

She had taken but two steps underneath the archway when a sudden frisson of fear crawled up her spine, like a snake. It wound around her chest and struck a burning sensation in her belly. Maybe it was just heartburn, but a rumble of thunder above her head told her certain doom awaited her in the room beyond the angels.

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"


End file.
